


Mary Magdalene

by smashedavo



Category: Narcos (TV)
Genre: 50K words of pining, A lot of Staring, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Canon-Typical Behavior, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Friendship/Love, I've Named This Fic After The FKA Twigs Song Because It's All I've Been Listening To, Mutual Pining, No Beta Just Grammarly And Pure Will, Other relationships - Freeform, Rating May Change, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-16 02:28:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 73,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28823727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smashedavo/pseuds/smashedavo
Summary: In 1984, Terry Bennett transfers to the DEA Bogota office to aid in the war on drugs. As the years pass and as she tumbles further into the depths of corruption, complacency, and narco-terrorism, Terry cultivates a relationship with her partner, Javier Pena.Covering Narcos S1-S3
Relationships: Eduardo Sandoval/Original Female Character(s), Javier Peña/Original Female Character(s), Javier Peña/Reader
Comments: 245
Kudos: 144





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Being in and out of lockdown has meant I've had a lot of free time to consume Pedro Pascal content. Narcos really *did* it for me and now I'm dealing with the withdrawal by writing this story. I haven't written in so long so any feedback would be much appreciated! I hope you enjoy this first chapter. 
> 
> Also, please forgive me for using a Princess Bride reference when the movie came out 3 years after this chapter is set. I had a dream where Pedro Pascal transformed into Inigo Montoya and I haven't been able to purge it from my brain.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arrival and introductions galore.

**Early 1984**

**Bogota, Colombia**

Terry hadn’t expected the airport to be so _fucking_ cold. 

Courtesy of the men in Washington, her reassignment had been a swift one. She fit the bill for easy relocation. For one, she was alone. By any logic, it was less of a hassle to transfer a single agent from another overseas office than to pull a married agent from the States. You could shove said single agent into the shittiest apartment without complaints of square footage or being too far from the nearest international school. If she died on the job, the embassy wouldn’t have to deal with a grieving family. No husband, no kids, no parents hanging around who would try to sue a federal agency. 

It seemed that the DEA was not bound by borders or subject to hassling over visas. Agents were sent where agents were needed -- and the hotspot of 1984 was Colombia. At the very least, she was a convenient choice. At the most, this was a logical progression in her burgeoning career as a federal agent. 

“Passaporte.” 

Her head snapped forwards as the disgruntled customs agent waved her forward. Shuffling over, she quickly slapping her passport on the countertop. She didn’t say anything; she’d been on enough flights in her lifetime to realise that saying “hello” wasn’t going to make the process go any faster. 

“Personal del embajada?” 

“Sí. El conserge de la embajada.” 

Her transfer file had given her false documents showing that she was hired as a janitor. While the DEA didn’t work in the same shadows as the CIA, similar rules applied. It was best not to explicitly state how many federal agents were entering a particular region. Although Terry wasn’t sure that Colombian customs hadn’t caught onto this tactic. While the officer looked dubious at her documents and took time processing her details, it must’ve been her lucky day. Terry was swiftly moved from the immigration desk through to baggage claim without so much as being further frisked down. 

And while Terry was expecting some kind of embassy escort, it was still a shock to the system to see her full name printed out on a placard.

TERESA BENNETT. 

Not a particularly terrible name but she preferred its masculine form. It was both a personal and career-related choice to go by ‘Terry’. Only her mother had called her Teresa, and since she died, Terry wasn’t comfortable with anyone else using it. It was a bittersweet memory that caused the slightest of aches in the pit of her stomach. The other factor was that it made it easier to navigate the workplace. Federal agencies didn’t have the best track record in their retention of women -- and for good reason. She’d figured out early on sticking with _Terry_ or _Bennett_ meant her male colleagues were more likely to take her seriously. It was a gross truth but those were the cards she was dealt with. 

The middle seat of the middle aisle hadn’t allowed Terry to see Bogota from the sky. So, her first sight of the city was through the embassy car window. In comparison to Seattle, Bogota almost looked like a dreamscape. It made perfect sense why Colombia was the home of magical realism. And yet, Terry couldn’t separate her fantastical imaginings of Bogota from the city described in her relocation package.

Under closer inspection, Terry could find Pablo Escobar’s presence everywhere. She saw it in the heavily gated communities she drove past, with armed guards and security cameras placed all along wire fencing. She also saw it in the walls of the city, losing count of bullet holes embedded in the concrete. Medellin may have been Escobar’s city, but it was not a far stretch to say that Colombia was his country. And, try as they might, the DEA hadn’t been able to stop his influence stretching from Medellin to Bogota to Miami. 

More and more agents like Terry were sent to Colombia every week. If her 6am arrival time meant anything, it indicated that Terry was expected to be in the office that same morning. Assimilation was key in this role; the cartel wasn’t going to wait for new agents to settle in. 

There wasn’t enough time to shower by the time the car pulled up to embassy housing. In her tiny bathroom, Terry unwrapped a nondescript soap bar, rubbing it underneath her arms and between her legs. A glance in the mirror only showed a tired face. Terry was quick to scramble through her carry-on luggage for makeup, rubbing products in as if she could suddenly transform back into the glowing, fresh-faced Terry she knew from 1976. 

Except, it wasn’t 1976. Terry wasn’t 15 years old and vying for the attention of the Californian beach boys she had spotted on a family holiday. It was 1984, Terry had just turned 23, and she was standing in her shitty bathroom in Bogota. 

By the time Terry had changed, gotten back into her arrival car, and stepped out in front of the US embassy, it hadn’t even been three hours since she landed. No frills, no fanfare, no fuss. Terry wasn’t like those higher-up agents who had been police captains and military men before joining the DEA. With what little career experience she had, she had done well. But at the end of the day, the agency didn’t have time to roll out the red carpet for their most recent and least experienced arrival. 

Directions to the front desk led to a quick introduction to its occupant. Terry couldn’t remember the secretary’s name but the other woman had scribbled a number on a notepad. _Call me_ , she said, _and we can have drinks! I know what it’s like to be alone in a foreign country_. 

Terry stuffed the piece of paper with the phone number into her back pocket, where it would be forgotten by the time she entered her first meeting with Ambassador Noonan. 

“Come in.” 

Noonan was a stark contrast to her boss in Seattle, who Terry learnt was a six-foot-something Communist-hating, scotch-drinking patriot within the first 30 seconds of meeting. “You must be Agent Bennett.” But not unlike her former boss, Terry also felt like she had been put under a microscope for the Ambassador to examine. Her skin prickled with the feeling of Noonan taking in her tired skin, tired body, tired _e_ _verything_. She was only put more on edge by the sudden realisation that Noonan knew everything about her -- and Terry knew nothing. 

“Yes, Ambassador.” Despite her brief interactions with the customs officer and the secretary, Terry’s voice was rough from disuse. She quickly cleared her throat. 

“Long flight?” 

“Yes.” 

“How’s your Spanish? I thought you were a Russian language graduate.” Terry didn’t think it’d be a good time to correct the Ambassador that her degree was in political science. Then again, the only thing that made her stand out was that she had a background in languages. Political science graduates had always been a dime a dozen. 

“My mother was from Peru. I took Spanish in high school.” 

“And that was enough cause to transfer you here?” 

“ _Sí_.” The Spanish affirmative made Noonan’s lips twitch, and Terry’s shoulders lost some of their tension. The awkwardness of the first meeting started to fade. “I’ve been told I have a knack for languages, Madam Ambassador.” 

“Those languages are handy.” At least Noonan and the DEA were on the same page about her apparent usefulness. Terry couldn’t have felt more like a fish out of water if she tried. 

The Ambassador gestured to one of the seats in front of her desk and Terry was quick to sit down. 

“As per the DEA’s request, you will be working to identify and track known associates of Pablo Escobar. At my discretion, you will also be a liaison between this office and our allies, including members of the Colombian cabinet. For now, the work you complete will be coordinated by your partners. I have assigned you to Agent’s Murphy and Pena.” 

Noonan handed over a thick manila file. Thumbing through the paper, Terry scanned over a replica of the contract she had signed 3 weeks ago. The job descriptor and expectations were nothing new to her but the list of contacts attached at the end were. She had no known connections in Bogota: Murphy and Pena were strangers. From what she could see, the two of them had already been in Colombia a while, putting them strides ahead of her. 

“Right.” Noonan almost seemed relieved at Terry’s short answers. It made Terry wonder how much of a handful the other agents were -- and whether Noonan would be disappointed when Terry got over her jetlag and regained her ability to speak. 

A knock on the door cut Terry off from saying anything more. Moving her gaze between Noonan and the door, she was certain that the Ambassador was steeling herself for whoever decided to join the meeting. Two men entered the room. 

If she squinted, the first man reminded her of Tom Selleck in _Magnum PI_ if Selleck was leaner, taller, and blonder. He walked like was ready to run after someone at a seconds notice. Terry was vaguely aware of Noonan addressing this man as ‘Murphy’. The ring on his left hand caught her attention, and she wondered if this was _the married guy with the dead cat_ her boss in Seattle had mentioned. 

Gossip travelled fast in the DEA. 

The second man caused her to focus in a way that she hadn’t since she was 15 years old and vying for David Hudson to ask her out to the school dance. She guessed he was in his 30s, with dark hair and a stride that suggested he was more inclined to work in the shadows. A lone pair of aviator sunglasses was tucked into his shirt and seemed to be holding the material together in place of buttons. If Terry wasn’t so jetlagged, she probably would’ve connected the open shirt with the moustache and brought it all together in a smart comment about Inigo Montoya. 

All in all, a good looking man. And, judging by the hands resting low on his hips, he was aware of it too. 

Terry stood from her chair and moved so she was standing directly in front of the two men. She could hear the scraping of Noonan’s chair as the Ambassador also rose to make introductions. 

“Teresa Bennett, these are your new partners. This is Agent Stephen Murphy,” Noonan gestured vaguely in the blonde’s direction before throwing a more sour look at the other man. “...Agent Javier Pena. Agent Bennett will be part of your team: effective immediately.” 

Terry’s body caught up with Noonan’s mouth, realising that she’d need to make the first move. “Call me Terry,” She stuck out her hand. 

The easy way in which Murphy grasped her hand, and the appraising way he judged her firm handshake, made Terry think that she’d get along with him. “Steve.”

Moving her gaze back to the other man, Terry resisted the urge to flinch as she realised that his eyes were already on her. The slow, lazy way that his gaze travelled up and down her body made Terry bristle. Yet, she was surprised that, when she met his gaze, there wasn’t even a hint of something suggestive. Pena was all dark eyes and curiousity. 

His handshake was stiff, perhaps on the tighter side. She applied a similar amount of pressure, not letting the man intimidate her. If there was one lesson ingrained in her, it was to always give out strong handshakes. Her father would be rolling in his grave if he learnt that his daughter had done otherwise. 

“Javier”. Terry couldn’t quite place the accent. 

Releasing his hand, Terry forced herself not to flex as the blood rushed back to her fingertips. “Nice to meet you.” 

And just like that, she had acquaintances in Bogota. 

When Terry dragged her gaze away from the other agents, she noted that the Ambassador looked relieved that introductions had been kept short. “I’ll leave the task of a tour to Murphy and Pena. They’ll be showing you your workspace and I believe someone from Centra Spike will be coming to around later.”

It was one of the more explicit dismissals Terry had been subject to in her short career. This meeting was a courtesy. Noonan was her boss, not her colleague: there was other business to attend to. 

All nodding to the Ambassador, the three agents left the office. As soon as the door closed, the professional facades of Murphy and Pena dropped. 

Murphy’s smirk was wide. “You’re a prime case of jet lag if I’ve ever seen it.” 

The make-up had done nothing for her. “I arrived three -- _wait,_ four hours ago. I think I’m allowed to look a little dead on my feet.” 

“Noonan said you transferred from Seattle,” It was Pena’s turn to talk. “First field assignment, kid?” 

_Kid._ Terry liked to believe that her age didn’t show but, standing next to her new partners, she showed her years. “Something like that.” It didn’t mean she had to put up with bullshit. “I didn’t know they only stationed old-timers in Bogota. Must’ve gotten the wrong papers.”

She didn’t miss the way Pena’s eyebrows rose and Murphy stifled a laugh at her words. Terry had spent enough time around other agents (read: other men) to realise that standing there and playing nice would do nothing to ingratiate herself. Firing an answer back couldn't make things worst, although she hoped it showed she was capable of working rather than just being a brat. 

“Right,” Murphy broke up the conversation before it could go any further. “We’ll take you out for drinks tonight so we can get to know each other.” He cut off all opportunity for an objection by continuing. He glanced at Pena, who only looked back blankly. “Pena will buy the first few rounds.” 

“Fuck off.” Even Terry couldn’t help the laugh that slipped out of her mouth at Pena’s response. 

“First things first,” Murphy continued like Pena hadn’t said anything at all. “Your desk.”

Striding ahead, Terry and Pena were left to follow in his footsteps. “He’s like a fucking mother-hen,” Pena didn’t bother whispering, thumb swiping over his bottom lip. Terry was distracted by the movement and almost missed his next words. “Just wait till he introduces you to Connie. The woman’s a saint for putting up with his hillbilly ass.” 

The unflattering description of Murphy was softened by the casual way in which Pena spoke. The dynamics of their friendship were becoming clear to her.

“Cool,” By the quick snap of his head, Terry figured that Pena had already forgotten she was capable of speaking. She let herself smile tentatively at him. “We’ll see how drinks go first, and then I’ll make some judgements on who the hillbilly of the group is.” 

Looking back on this first meeting, years down the road, Terry would recall that she was done for as soon as Pena smiled back.

*********

**April 1984**

**Bogota, Colombia**

Bogota’s liveliness extended into the night. Leaning against her window, Terry let the evening breeze wash across her. She took this time to close her eyes and _think_. Her quiet time was intertwined with the screaming laughter of children as they ran in between streets, and the faint noise of radio music streaming from one household to the next. Her first few weeks in Colombia had been nothing short of overwhelming. 

She had quickly settled into a routine. Every morning, she woke up in her apartment that she hadn’t bothered to properly furnish yet. She tripped out the front door to get into the shitty box car she bought off the local cafe owner’s daughter. Terry would then go to said local cafe to pick up her morning coffee. 

She’d be at the embassy by 8:30am, saying a quick hello to the secretary whose number she still hadn’t called. She’d fumble to open her office door to find it empty save for the three desks strewn awkwardly around the room. By the time Murphy and Pena rolled in, she’d gotten another cup of coffee and was already opening up their case files. In the early days, a quiet day meant she’d be out of the office by 6pm. But most days weren’t quiet anymore, and regular working hours had quickly become a thing of the past. 

Although not the only female field agent in the Bogota office, Terry still stood out. Her first few days at work had been spent combating offhand remarks about her age, her previous posting, and _what the hell she thought she was doing in Colombia._ The latter remark had come from one of the Centra Spike guys when she asked to look over some transcripts. Terry only had enough patience to give a short answer: _my fucking job._

She hadn’t come here to play games, despite her frequent nights out drinking with her new partners. Murphy and Pena had become her lifelines in the embassy. They worked well together; both men had given Terry space and opportunity to research, collect, and present intel independently. She had worried they would make her feel like a secretary but she felt secure that she was their teammate _,_ even if they hadn’t invited her on every excursion out of the office. 

While she might’ve avoided calling them her ‘friends’, that’s what they were. On her first day, as promised, Murphy had dragged her to a bar close to the embassy. _Me and Javi are loyal customers_ , he had told her. _And like I said, Javi’s buying -- they always get him the good stuff._ Her earlier assessment of Pena as someone who felt comfortable working in the shadows wasn’t entirely incorrect. He managed to assimilate himself so well into the environment that he might have as well been part of the furniture. The ease in which he spoke to locals, and vice versa, was a testament to how good at his job he was. While Terry’s Spanish was to the level of native fluency, her natural accent slipped into her speech often enough to designate her as a foreigner. 

Murphy stuck out like a sore thumb. If his blonde hair and all-American looks didn’t catch people’s attention, his complete inability to speak Spanish did the job. The very little Spanish he had picked up so far was spoken in a grating drawl. So, Terry found herself firmly in the middle of their three-man group. Not quite as integrated as Pena but not so ‘out-there’ as Murphy. It made the three of them a fascinating group to watch. 

Quick-fire questions were enough for Terry to figure out that her partners liked her enough from the get-go. At the very least, they didn’t find her to be totally useless. 

" _Where’d you say you were from?_ " That was Pena -- charming enough that his questions didn’t feel like an interrogation although that’s exactly what he was doing. 

" _I didn’t._ ” That’d been when Terry downed the second shot, Murphy slapping the table in response at her efforts. She locked eyes with Pena, defiant. 

But she gave them the spiel anyway. 

New Haven, Connecticut, born and raised. Both of her parents had been professors at Yale: her father had taught 19th-century American literature and her mother was a mathematician. Subsequently, she liked to read and had formulae drilled into her head at an early age, but languages were her forte. Her mother’s family was from Peru and so Spanish was spoken frequently enough that high school Spanish was a breeze for Terry. At first, she wanted to go into teaching. Her parents led good lives, were good people, and had given her a happy home. And then they died shortly after her 18th birthday and, instead of taking comfort in her parents’ lives, she threw herself further away. Political science was the hot undergraduate course at the time and Terry had access to a scholarship fund for children of professors. The university had been understanding enough to still give her money despite the circumstances. 

Russian was a natural integration into her degree, and she kept up the Spanish through auditing classes. Federal agencies had made it a habit to sit in at top universities, surveying potential students for employment; her language skills made her stand out. Her DEA recruiter thought she’d be a great fit. And for a young graduate, employment straight out of college with decent pay and pension seemed to be the workings of fate. Her posting in Seattle was all desk duty and transcript reading. But when she asked to do the tests for field agents--firearms, surveillance techniques--her boss gave her a shot. Terry was noted on her file for being ‘ _intelligent and creative'_ and ‘ _competent_ ’. Coincidentally, what the DEA needed in their war on drugs in Colombia was the latter. 

" _I bet they gave you that really shitty apartment they tried to stuff me and Connie in.”_

“ _Last room on the right, fifth floor?_ ” Boxed in the corner, little natural light, five flights of stairs to climb. 

" _That’s the one_.” 

Murphy had snorted but Pena didn’t make a sound, still assessing her. He concentrated on her as he took drags from his cigarette, and Terry caught his gaze with her own: _got me figured out, Pena?_ He looked away before Terry could see an answer. 

Terry decided to relieve Pena of his drink-buying duty then, forking out the cash for a round of beers. Murphy and Pena were nice but they were still men; the beer was her way of trying to get them to like her. And it worked because they both clapped her on the shoulder the following morning, commending her for her drinking. Even Pena had given her a respectful nod, which Murphy called ‘ _fucking rare_ ’. 

Now, the outings with her partners were almost routine. Not as long as that first night but a significant chunk of her free time was spent socialising with them. The time apart was spent leading their separate lives. Murphy had a wife to go home to, Terry had an empty apartment to decide how to decorate, and Pena liked working out of the office. Murphy had made a joke that she didn’t get at first. _Javi’s putting in overtime_ , he said, when Terry asked why Pena was off to speak to an informant so late. _Putting in_ , Murphy stressed when he saw her blank stare. And then it clicked.

Pena was fucking his informants. 

It was public knowledge in the office. The front desk secretary had taken time to hash out more details over breakroom coffee. Pena frequented brothels, and so did cartel members. He made deals with local prostitutes: he paid to fuck them, and then they would give him information in exchange for more money or American visas. _I’ve heard he’s quite good to them_ , the secretary whispered. _Only praise for Agent Pena._ Terry had no business being negatively affected by this revelation but, somehow, she felt small tendrils of jealously seeping in to sit in her core. But that jealously quickly gave way to acceptance: Pena sleeping with his informants was none of her business. It helped that Pena wasn’t the type to brag about his escapades. Terry had heard very little from the man himself. It seemed that other men milling around the embassy liked to do the gossiping for him. In fact, Pena hadn’t even talked about such things with her beyond letting her know he was heading out somewhere. 

The beeping of her pager broke Terry from her thoughts on her partner. Sighing, she tore herself from the window and snatched the device off the kitchen counter. There’d be plenty of other opportunities to think about Pena later if she wanted to. 

_Emergency. Bonilla’s gone. Address…_

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Spanish is limited to the swearwords I've picked up from Narcos so apologies if the grammar/language is incorrect! I'll add some translations here, and please correct me if they are wrong. I would appreciate it!!
> 
> Passaporte = passport  
> Personal del embajada? = Embassy staff?  
> Sí. El conserge de la embajada. = Yes. Janitorial staff.


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has left kudos or even just read the first chapter! I really appreciate it. 
> 
> This chapter is set immediately after Chapter One, dealing with the events of 1x3 "The Men of Always" and extradition.  
> I have notes at the end providing a bit more context. Also, this chapter is a little shorter than the last as I'm still figuring out the best pacing for the first season in particular. Writing this has made me realise how whack the Narcos show timeline is pre-1989. 
> 
> Note: Terry will eventually call them Javier and Steve. She's just a little distanced for now.

**April 1984**

**Bogota, Colombia**

“Unfucking believable.” 

Terry was having a hard time tearing her eyes away from the body. Police and embassy vehicles were parked around, attempting to block civilians and journalists from taking any further note of the scene. Peering through the broken window, Terry took note that no less than 10 bullets had hit the vehicle. She couldn’t quite figure out how many had hit Bonilla, but she could count three chest wounds and two bullets that’d gone straight through the head. 

She’d never seen a body so violently undone. Terry heard the medical team throw around words that she was able to translate into ‘ _brain_ ’ and ‘ _matter_ ’ and ‘ _pieces_ ’. 

“He didn’t wear it.” 

Terry dragged her eyes away from the body to focus on Murphy. He was the only one of their trio who had spoken since arriving on the scene. She felt sick taking comfort in how he was reacting just as strong as she was, despite his prior experience with violent crime. Standing between the two other agents, she chased Pena’s body heat as he leant closer in. 

“Wouldn’t have made a difference,” Pena replied.

He was right. Murphy had gone to convince Bonilla to wear the DEA-approved bulletproof gear about a week prior. But at the end of the day, it was a suggestion -- not an order. Terry reached out and grabbed Murphy by the shoulder, squeezing the muscle underneath. It was as much of an attempt to comfort the other agent as it was to ground herself. 

Terry had little field experience before Colombia. She’d taken the mandatory firearms exam when she first started. She’d scraped by to pass, more prone to shakiness than her colleagues. Her Seattle posting was limited to information drop-offs and surveillance. She hadn’t been a _first-called-to-the-scene_ kind of agent. 

When she got her transfer papers, she had to retake the same firearms exam. Except she had to be more than proficient and was expected to shadow a field agent. While she hadn’t killed someone, Terry had managed to injure a perp by shooting through his kneecap. 

She no longer had problems with shakiness after that. 

Although she was aware of how violent the narcos were, it was different reading reports than it was to see a body with her own eyes. The calculating look that Pena gave Terry made her believe he thought it was a rite of passage long overdue. Pena had a solid decade of experience on her and had made sure to tell her the truth: 

“ _You’re going to be seeing a lot of bodies around, kid. And you’re going to have to straighten the fuck up if you want to last here_.” 

Fight or flight. 

Terry dragged a hand down her face, fingertips pressing into her eyes. “Maybe there’ll be some chatter about tonight. I’ll go in and talk with some of the Centra Spike guys.” 

Although he saw this as a teachable moment, Pena wasn’t cruel enough to ignore her obvious discomfort being at the scene of an assassination. While Murphy spoke of holding a briefing in the morning, Pena offered up a cigarette. Leaning over so he could light it, Terry glanced up to look at Pena as she inhaled, vaguely aware that he hadn’t snapped the lighter shut immediately. She wondered if his eyes had always been that dark or if they had ever been so focused on her mouth. 

Murphy had walked off back to his car, whispering into his handset something like _I’ll be late, Connie_. Terry was too busy flicking ash on the concrete to follow the conversation closely, still standing in Pena’s space. 

“These assholes always go to girls after shit like this. I’ll check in with some of my CIs.” Pena’s relations had brought in enough good intel that Terry agreed it’d be the best move. 

“Fine.” Finishing her last inhale, Terry crushed the cigarette stub under her boot. Her gaze faltered as it fell on the bullet casings lying not even 2 metres in front of her. “Let me know if you find anything,” She looked at Pena expectantly, who seemed like he wanted to say something. “What?” 

He didn’t reply. As he stared at her, she stared back. She took in the dark circles under his eyes, how his scruff looked a little more grown out, and the way his hair stuck up at the top because he’d been running his fingers through it. She saw a hand move in her peripheral vision and she was struck by the idea that Pena was perhaps moving to touch her. 

It was a childish idea. His fingers twitched in the air before moving back down to press against his hip. 

Pena, after all these months, was still a mystery to her; still playing his cards close to his chest. She’d heard broken arguments between him and Murphy, harsh whispers about _being all in_ and _I’m your fucking partner_. Terry, while not timid by nature, had waited around the corner for their words to die down. She’d heard her own name thrown around in the mix. Well, not her own name but _kid_ and _Bennett_. Murphy had picked up the habit of calling her ‘Terry’ even though she had yet to call him ‘Steve’, so she knew it was Pena talking about her. 

She was biding her time to see if Pena ever decided to confront her. Although she wasn’t even entirely certain about what he’d confront her about. 

“Okay….” She drew out the word, realising that he wasn’t going to say anything. “I’ll see you later, Pena.” 

Terry didn’t wait around, quick steps taking her back to her car. She took a moment to breathe, embracing the solitude of the vehicle, resting her head on the steering wheel. _Fuck_ , she thought. _What the fuck are we doing here?_

She met her own gaze in the centre mirror, taking the time to assess how she looked. Her lips were downturned and her eyes bleary with tiredness. With her thumb and forefinger, she held the corners of her lips upwards in a mockery of a smile. 

She was struggling to recognise the woman she saw staring back at her. Maybe Pena was trying to find the woman from two months ago, too. A traitorous part of her mind wondered whether he preferred this worn-down version of her. 

At the end of the day, it didn’t matter how this job affected her. Bonilla’s death had been a convenient win for the DEA. He was a good man whose death had created a martyr for American interests. The Colombian government was sure to approve of extradition now that one of its ardent supporters had been killed. 

_Extradition is the only thing that matters. You’re just a single cog in the wheel that will break the Medellin cartel._

She had to focus on what his death had achieved. Terry didn’t have time to feel guilty. It wasn’t her fault. 

And yet, not even a week later, Terry realised that even she couldn’t avoid responsibility unless she truly wanted to sell her soul. She stared down at the sheet of paper in hand, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Her teeth scraped along her knuckles, the small jolt of pain keeping her tethered to the world. 

Los Extraditables was a little organisation not dissimilar to the Death to Kidnappers group formed by the cartel back in ‘82. The unfolding events, namely the narcos targeted killings of Communist guerrillas, was before her time in the DEA. But everything had been put into archives, and Terry had already begun sifting through old reports. She saw her partner’s names scattered here and there in the files. 

The old news of Death to Kidnappers sat next to the new pile of reports: car bombs and assassinations of Colombian court judges. Bonilla’s murder had been the first in the line of many others. As the list of deaths and mutilations grew longer, she tumbled deeper into the black hole her mind had conjured for itself. 

Everywhere she looked, Escobar was there. Everything she worked towards, Escobar was at the centre. The very woman she was and was becoming revolved around a single man. 

“Snappy slogan, huh?” 

Terry peered over the documents to see Pena leaning against the open doorway of their office. Thumbs hooked into the belt loops of his low-slung jeans, Pena looked the very image of a Texas cowboy. It was a look that worked for him -- and it worked for her, too, if she was being honest. Terry couldn’t blame him for seeking shared body heat in the brothels of Bogota. 

“The slogan makes up for the logo,” She rolled her shoulders back, peering at him through hooded eyes. If she stared at him long enough, it might burn away the self-loathing that was starting to consume her. “Any reason you’re sticking around late?” 

Murphy had left a few hours earlier, and Terry was already used to Pena sneaking out of the embassy. To meet with CIs or fuck around or _both_ , she wasn’t sure, but it was also none of her business. So she thought nothing of being alone in their shared workspace.

“Thought we’d go for a drink,” Pena stated this casually as if it were a regular occurrence. While the drinking itself was regular, as were the nights out, it had never just been the two of them. 

She’d had a few one-on-one drinks with Murphy already, courtesy of Pena being busy. Terry decided not to question Pena’s sudden interest in hanging out: no point in looking at a gift horse in the mouth. 

“Let me just get rid of this shit,” Terry stood up, haphazardly tying together files before shoving the bundle into a random desk drawer. She’d deal with file organisation in the morning. “I’d thank you for delivering the material on Los Extraditables but this news is just fuelling my alcoholism.” 

“You’re not the one with a bottle of whiskey in the drawer.” Terry decided not to tell Pena that she already knew that because she and Murphy had already snuck some into their morning coffee.

Choosing just to go to their regular bar, Terry and Pena didn’t talk on the way over except to exchange cigarette packs and lighters. By the time she sat down, the nicotine had filtered through her system and relieved the headache that had started gathering behind her eyes. 

“Salud,” Terry clinked her beer against Pena’s before guzzling down half. He only gave her another of his looks before taking a sip of his own drink. 

“You looked like y’needed it,” His eyes scattering all across her face, seeking out. Terry shut down the reflex of her body warming in response. “Still thinking about Bonilla?” 

Terry followed Pena’s finger as it rubbed along the rim of his glass, choosing not to look directly at him. “First assassination. Seattle had a lot of crime but not like here. I rarely went to crime scenes; I just read reports. And besides, it was mainly overdoses -- not shootouts.”

The first crime scene she went to was two weeks into her Seattle posting. Terry had just left the safety of college to take up the job. The dead man she saw had overdosed on a combination of cocaine and heroin, eyes half-open with dried vomit lingering on his lips. There’d been a party, but the bodies the DEA found outnumbered the number of people they charged with drug possession. 

In Colombia, the DEA didn’t care about the small fish. This wasn’t Seattle. And so Terry would have to get used to seeing a few more violent deaths. 

“Bienvenido Colombia, kid.” Terry was pleased he hadn’t tried to coddle her, pat her on the head to say _good job for not throwing up in front of everyone_. She hadn’t figured him to be the type but there was always room for surprises in her life.

“Gracias,” She let her sarcasm shine. “Noonan reckons that I might do a better job at convincing these politicians to accept federal protection. I wonder why...” Terry mumbled her last words into her beer but he was still able to pick it up. 

“Your tits will do better than Murphy’s pornstache.” Terry choked, slamming her glass back onto the table as she tried to regain control over her breathing. Faintly, and through tears, she could see Pena’s head thrown back as he laughed. 

And if Terry spent too long staring at the long length of his neck, she’d blame it on the fact that she was choking to death and wanted to wring it out. 

“ _Fucking hell_ , Pena. You should be happy I didn’t shoot beer at you out of my nose.” 

He was still laughing when he passed over some tissues. Despite the fact she’d made a complete mess of herself, Terry’s lips easily pulled into a responding grin. The lack of snarkiness made Pena look a lot younger. 

“Look, you’re a good agent --” 

“---but I’m still tits on legs? I’ve heard that before.” 

“Kid, I’m trying to make a point here --”

“I didn’t realise my _assets_ were such hot office gossip.” 

She could tell Pena wasn’t impressed with her constant interruptions. He levelled her with an unamused look while Terry just continued wiping her spilt drink off the table. 

“I think it’d be good for you to, y’know, get a chance to saddle up to the politicians. I hate being in a suit.” Terry always got a good kick out of how Pena managed to pull off a suited look while also acting like it was the most uncomfortable thing he’d ever worn. 

“That’s sweet, Pena.” 

“I didn’t say it first but your tits will help. A little _toque femenino_ for our Colombian buddies.” Pena didn’t even look like he regretted the comment when Terry leaned over to cuff him around the head. He only raised his eyebrows at her, downing his beer without taking his eyes off her. 

In the haziness of the bar lights, Terry imagined an alternate reality where she and Pena hadn’t met on the job. She would call him _Javi_ and he would call her _Terry_ and maybe this bar was _their spot_. 

Terry really needed to make some other friends. The alcohol was starting to get to her if Pena was featuring so heavily in her daydreams. “Slow down, compañero, otherwise you won’t be able to get it up for your lady friends tonight.” 

Pena only leaned forward with a smirk to reply. “My mouth still works.” 

Seeing as she flinched so hard her beer went flying off the table, Terry didn’t feel bad for making Pena buy the next round. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Key figures and notes for this chapter, along with Spanish-English translations, are below. Again, I can't confirm whether these Spanish translations are correct so take them with a grain of salt!
> 
> 1) Rodrigo Lara Bonilla, played by Adan Canto in the episode, was the Colombian Minister of Justice. He was assassinated on the 30th April 1984 on Escobar's orders for his role in prosecuting traffickers. Immediately after his death, the Colombian government approved an extradition treaty with the United States. 
> 
> 2) An extradition treaty is an agreement allowing the surrender of someone from one jurisdiction (Colombia) to be moved to another jurisdiction (US) to be prosecuted/convicted of a crime. In the context of Narcos, extradition meant that Colombian drug traffickers could be tried and prosecuted in the US and serve their sentence there. In response to this, the Medellin cartel formed Los Extraditables (The Extraditables) who killed and threatened Colombian judges to undermine convictions of drug traffickers. Their slogan was "We prefer a grave in Colombia to a prison in the United States". 
> 
> Spanish-English translations:
> 
> Salud = Cheers! for drinking  
> Bienvenido Colombia = Welcome to Colombia  
> Gracias = Thank you  
> Toque femenino = feminine touch


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Medellin! 
> 
> It's the summer of 1984, Helmut Bellingrodt has won an Olympic silver medal for Colombia, and we're introduced to Terry's first CI (*criminal informant). 
> 
> Carrillo and Pena also make an appearance.

**Summer 1984  
** **Medellin, Colombia**

“And what do I get for helping you, corazón?” 

The Olympic games fever matched the broiling summer heatwave that Colombia was currently experiencing. Terry could feel drops of sweat rolling down her spine, gathering in a pool under the waistband of her jeans. Around them, Medellin locals celebrated winning a medal. 

It’d been a novice move wearing jeans in this kind of weather but her nerves were shot. She’d been working this guy for over two months now, flitting back and forth between Bogota and Medellin. His name had come up in some intelligence transcripts and she’d been the first person to stick her hand up. Pena had told her it was a good opportunity to _get out there_. 

Right now, Terry wasn’t seeing the appeal of being outside.

“What’s that saying again? Better a grave in Colombia...” 

Her CI went by the name Dinero. The name ‘money’ was a fitting title considering that the man help run the operation convincing woman to smuggle cocaine into the US for cash. His real name was Luis Martinez and he’d grown up without any money -- not unlike most of the guys who were situated on the lower-rungs of the cartel hierarchy. 

He was the best bet to find another cartel member, albeit one that was much higher up. Said higher-up went by the name El Leon. Leon had been working between Medellin and Miami for a while but the DEA wasn't even close to pinning down what he looked like. It was for that reason, and that reason only, that Terry was putting up with this current conversation. 

Martinez got off on holding information above her head, teasing her with the promise of good intel. The first time they met, he had reached over to grope her breast and Terry had slammed the butt of her gun into his face. While she’d figured out that he wasn’t actually interested in sex, but just enjoyed making her uncomfortable, she took satisfaction in that his nose was now permanently crooked. 

“You drive a hard bargain, Teresa,” He sighed, licking his lips suggestively. “Just imagine what I could _do_ to you, corazón. I’d have you screaming my name all night --” 

She hated the way her name sounded on his tongue. He didn’t have the right to call her by that name or even Terry, as far as she was concerned. But when she had gotten angry before, he had figured out that was her weak spot; he wasn’t afraid of exploiting it. 

“Luis,” Her voice was sickly sweet. “The only time I’ll be screaming your name is when I go to Escobar himself and tell him exactly whose been giving me intel.” Terry enjoyed the way Dinero’s face lost all colour. “Remember who the fuck you’re talking to, _corazón_.” 

His favourite nickname tasted like acid on her tongue. 

A cheer went up in the bar as the Colombian silver-medallist appeared on the television, raising his fist as he climbed the podium. In the meantime, she handed Martinez an expense sheet, only sliding over the file full of cash when he returned it signed and sealed. 

It was funny how she’d teased Pena once for his receipt vigilance and here she was, not even batting an eyelid as she bribed a cartel member. 

“I’ll be in touch, Luis.” 

She didn’t respect or fear her CI enough to call him by his codename. At the end of the day, he was a scumbag and sleaze: a man who preyed on women who were financially vulnerable to win some fucked up brownie points with Escobar’s men.

Downing her now-warm beer, Terry made sure to fork out a few coins to pay for her drinks, slapping the cash down on the table. She didn’t bother saying goodbye even when she heard her CI call out behind her, _adios Teresa!_

Stepping out onto the street, Terry moved her sunglasses down to cover her eyes. She’d snagged the pair of aviators from Pena’s desk before she went to Medellin; it was a little rebellious act that Murphy encouraged by furiously nodding. 

He’d made sure to page Terry when Pena found his sunglasses missing: _Javi’s fumin’._

She and Martinez always met at this bar because it was close to the headquarters of the Colombian National Police. The Ambassador had stressed the importance of being friendly with the CNP and Terry was happy to take that on board. But she was the proverbial elephant in the room; being both an American and a woman didn’t make her a popular guest. 

She was more comfortable in Bogota than she would ever be in Medellin. There was something unnerving about being at the centre of Escobar’s universe, in _his_ city. She felt more like an intruder than anything, paranoid that everything she did was being taken note of. 

At least she could rely on her CI not saying anything unless he wanted to be killed too. There was nothing more important to most people than self-preservation.

The CNP was busy, a constant traffic flow of officers and civilians alike. She’d been shoved into the archives room -- something she couldn’t complain about considering she spent most of her time there. But it also designed to keep her out of sight, out of mind, because nobody wanted her there. 

Well, the only person who _did_ want her there was Carrillo and that was only because Pena had put in good word for her. And, honestly, Carrillo still didn’t trust her further than he could throw her. 

Knocking on his office door, Terry wasn’t surprised with Carrillo’s gruff announcement to enter. Everything about the man screamed _tension_ , from the tight clench of his jaw to the stiff hold of his shoulders. She imagined even his _toes_ to be curled tight as he walked. It was like interacting with a brick wall that had suddenly become sentient. 

Pena had told her that Carrillo wasn’t a hardass for no reason; Carrillo didn’t dislike Terry because she was American or a woman. In fact, her partner’s words had been:

“ _He couldn’t give less than two shits about that. Carrillo has lost a lot of people close to him. He wants to bring down the cartel more than we do, and that’s saying something._ ” 

So, she tried not to take his coldness personally. Nevertheless, she still braced herself for it before any meeting with the man. 

“I just spoke to Dinero and he’s handed over some good info: passport details, itineraries, although the latter is subject to change --” 

Terry stopped short when she realised that Carrillo wasn’t the only person in the room. Sitting in front of Carrillo’s desk, looking back at her over his shoulder, was Pena. 

“Hey, kid.” 

If she wasn’t so shell-shocked, Terry might’ve screamed at him something like: _you haven’t seen me in two months and that’s all you’re saying?_ Although she’d been flying back to Bogota regularly to hand over reports, she had always _j_ _ust_ missed Pena by moments. 

Carrillo spoke up, not looking pleased. “Next time, don’t start speaking about what you’ve found until you know it’s only me, Bennett.” 

As much as she wanted to claim it was an overreaction on his part, Terry knew he was right. The CNP was full of officers who didn’t care about the narcos other than wanting to make sure the cartel kept their pockets lined. If they overheard her, that information could very well make its way into the wrong hands. And then, two months of work would’ve been for nothing. 

“Sorry, Carrillo,” She was just glad she hadn’t started gaping like a fish in front of both men. She quickly shuffled her way forwards to sit down next to Pena. Not having seen Pena in a few months, her skin prickled at the familiar feeling of his body heat. For the first time since she’d been in Medellin, Terry felt comfortable. 

Safe, even. 

“Your CI working out?” Pena asked, shifting in his seat so his entire body was facing her direction. For a brief moment, she wondered whether he wanted to reach out and touch her like she was considering doing to him -- just to see if the other was real. 

“ _Yeah_ ,” The word came out softer than she intended. While Pena didn’t seem to notice, Terry felt Carrillo’s eyes burning into the side of her skull. When she turned her head to look at him, he seemed keenly aware of something she wasn’t.

She cleared her throat. “He’s an asshole but he’s given me enough intel that I’ve been able to collate all of it into a few reports. I’ll be delivering the latest in a few days to get the ball rolling in Miami.” 

“Good.” That was all Pena said before he twisted his body back around to face Carrillo -- she followed suit. 

“I caught up with a CI of mine in Envigado this morning. She mentioned there was a lot of recent traffic with the narcos asking for girls to entertain. Nothing unusual but worth taking note of if y’want to catch a few of them out.” 

The smell of sweat and sex was absent on Pena, so he must’ve taken a shower after his meeting. Terry’s mind conjured images of Pena to fill in the blanks.

She imagined the thrust of his hips, angled _just right_ , his hand brushing up to hold back the faceless woman’s hair as he pulled her in. It was visceral, the way she could imagine the sweat pooling in his hair and dripping down the length of his neck. The false vision was replaced by an image of Pena in the shower, soap travelling along with the dips and ripples in his skin. 

The past few weeks, Terry had fallen into the habit of thinking about Pena while she was in bed. So, the daydream rolled by smoothly with all the pieces already in place. 

Embarrassed with herself, she wiped the images from her mind and focused on Carrillo’s response, hands lifting to tie her hair back. In her peripheral vision, Terry realised that Pena was paying attention to her movements.

He was probably familiar with Carrillo’s speeches so she didn’t think much of him being distracted at something so ordinary.

“-- Bennett has been respectful of my request for her to stay out of CNP business.” 

“Least I could do, Colonel.” Finished with her hair, Terry’s hands fell into her lap and Pena looked away. 

The meeting extended another twenty minutes from that point, mostly taken up by Terry running through her notes and Carrillo updating Pena on progress concerning a few sicarios. By the time she and Pena left the room, officers had already begun changing for the evening shift and Terry realised she was due to start packing up her things. 

“Do you want to go for a drink?” 

“I can’t.” She was more disappointed than she let on. When she thought back on this later, she would rationalise her feelings as being the result of not having seen him in so long. _If it was Murphy, I would’ve felt the same_. “I’ve gotta pack up my desk before heading to the airport.”

Before she met with Martinez, Terry had already removed her belongings from the flat she’d been staying in. The duffel bag, full of the bare minimum travelling items, had sat in a locker in the CNP headquarters all day.

“Okay,” Pena rubbed a hand along his jaw. “I’m gonna be here the weekend so I’ll be back on Monday.” 

“Looking forward to it.” Her smile was earnest. While confused by her feelings towards Pena, she knew that she’d missed him. Missed him _and_ Murphy, who were the only friends she had in Colombia. Their partnership was the one stable part of her work, of her life.

The last two months had felt off-balance for a reason. 

“Come on, kid, I’ll help clean up your desk.” 

It wasn’t like her desk in their Bogota office, where she’d placed small items to show _that desk was hers, so stop moving it around, Murphy, goddammit!_ Terry’s desk had a pencil holder shaped like a rollerskate, a printed photograph of the La Puerta Falsa storefront, and a bottle of tequila shoved into the third drawer. 

This desk was nothing like that. But the process of packing her things away with Pena still felt oddly intimate. He was careful with her things, passing them with both hands, asking her where to put them. She shouldn’t have been that surprised -- he never had encroached on her desk space, unlike their missing third. 

The metal groaned when Terry shifted files off the desk. “Jesus, kid, did you even get through most of these files?” 

“I was always scared the shelves were gonna topple if I kept moving them around,” She admitted. “I’ve been thinking of having a talk to Carrillo about budgeting for better shelves.” 

“If you’re talking to Carrillo about budgeting, no wonder my good word didn’t do you any fucking favours.” 

And, despite the new location, she soon found herself conducting her usual routine with Pena: outside, swapping cigarettes for lighters. The earlier summer heat had transitioned into a cooler evening breeze. They stood close together, pressing in towards each other to block the wind from disrupting the cigarette’s burning end. 

“I can’t wait to leave.” Her admittance settled between them, and Pena leant in closer as if blocking her words from being carried off by the wind. 

“I get it,” He dragged another breath in, mouth twisting to the side as he blew the smoke away from her. “Escobar’s lurking around every fucking part of this city.” 

“You don’t even like Medellin for the company?” Terry wondered if he preferred his informants here -- whether that was because they had better intel or he just liked fucking out of the embassy’s sight, she couldn’t quite discern. 

“No. But this is my life.”

Escobar held them all in the palm of his hand: Terry, Pena, Murphy, Carrillo. She could feel his fingers sunk deep into her shoulders, holding her to Colombia. Who knew how long Pablo would hold out on them, and who knew how long people like Pena would keep chasing. Only coming up to a year in the country and Terry couldn’t see an end for herself. 

Not yet, not this early. 

A silence fell over them: not awkward, just thoughtful. Pena looked out into the night and she found herself doing the same, trying to find what he was looking for. It reminded her of the times when she sat in their office and Pena would suddenly appear. He seemed to have a knack of finding her right before she fell into her mind’s self-created abyss. In those moments, he was like a salve for a burn she didn't know how to treat. 

Terry couldn’t deny that she held Pena close, seeking him out in moments of both joy and terror. Like nights out with Murphy spent laughing and throwing around jokes, stories. But also like the long days looking over reports and counting bullet wounds on bodies. 

There was something of herself that she saw reflected back in Pena. Maybe not who she was now but who she was starting to grow into. Whether she was always meant to end up this way was another debate entirely. Maybe he sought her out to comfort her, in his own way -- showing that he was a kindred spirit, another soul that Escobar clutched onto. 

She couldn’t fathom why Pena would seek her out for any other reason, if not to remind her of what they were doing in Colombia. 

He didn’t drive her to the airport, but Pena had rested his hand on her shoulder and squeezed. He told her to page him when she landed in Bogota; _I’ll see you soon, Bennett._ She told him she would. 

When she arrived in Bogota, she made good on her word, paging: _Back home._

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! This chapter was a spur of the moment piece of writing -- there was a massive time gap between Chapter 2 (mid-1984) and what is now Chapter 4, which is set on NYE. So, here we are: a little bit of CI action, Carrillo, and pining over Pena. 
> 
> Because I have the next chapter written up, I'll probably get to posting that tomorrow. This chapter and the next are little interludes that are more to establish some *feelings* than anything. Chapter 5 will get us fully into the swing of season 1 action -- nevertheless, I hope you're enjoying these bits!! 
> 
> A few little notes concerning events, people:  
> 1) Colombia won their second-ever silver medal in 1984; Helmut Bellingrodt competed in shooting.  
> 2) Terry's CI is a made-up person: any similarities with real-life persons is a coincidence. I just really wanted to bring in the cartel's smuggling methods especially in their early days.  
> 3) I mention El Leon/The Lion in this chapter. He was depicted in the show as the one who started doing the first smuggling trips to Miami for the cartel, establishing himself there as their contact.  
> 4) La Puerta Falsa is one of the oldest restaurants in Bogota. 
> 
> Spanish-English translation:  
> corazón = sweetheart, beloved


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New Year's Eve, ringing in 1985 with the gang. 
> 
> Our last little interlude before shit hits the fan. A little hint: Barry Seal, M19, Galan. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has commented, given kudos, or just read this story. I'm really enjoying writing this and I'm glad that others are finding some enjoyment in it too!

**New Years Eve, 1984**

**Bogota, Colombia**

Her first work anniversary was approaching and it was odd that, in all that time, Terry had only met Connie Murphy twice. Or rather, had unintentionally run into her -- twice. 

The first time, Terry had hopped over to Murphy’s apartment to drop off some files. She hadn’t been expecting Connie to answer and Connie had certainly not been expecting her. Both women had stood awkwardly in front of one another before Murphy decided to trot over and see who was at the door. 

" _Connie, this is Terry._ ” 

“ _Terry!_ ” She looked so excited that Terry immediately became concerned with what exactly Murphy had been saying about her to his wife. “ _It’s so nice to finally meet you!_ ” 

Terry had only mumbled out a quick _you too_ before almost throwing the file at Murphy. _Sorry_ , she directed this at Connie, _but I’ve gotta run back to the office._ Connie hadn’t seemed upset at the quick exit but Terry was so embarrassed by the whole experience that she’d avoided the couple’s apartment at all costs. She wasn’t so much embarrassed by meeting Connie than by the realisation that she had nothing to talk about other than work.

After that tragic revelation, Terry put effort into regaining a semblance of work-life balance. She met for a weekly lunch with the front desk secretary, whose name she learnt was Robin ( _like the bird!_ ). She spent a bit less time drinking and a bit more exploring what Bogota had to offer. She hadn’t been able to drag Murphy or Pena around with her but Robin had taken her up on visiting local shops and museums together. 

With her walking around the city more, she’d even managed to catch Pena when he was leaving a brothel. He was still tucking his shirt back into his jeans when he lifted his head to see Terry standing across the street. While she hadn’t acknowledged him then, she dropped a very informative pamphlet on his desk the next morning.

“ _Pulled this from a magazine: ‘how to tuck your shirt in to flatter your frame’. Thought it might come in handy.”_

The joke had been worth it when Pena bought all her drinks the same evening, trying to make up for something that she swore she had no issue with. 

Terry pushed away any thoughts that recalled the sharp pain that spread through her body when she’d seen him. It tasted like disappointment. 

Regardless, by the time she saw Connie again, Terry felt like she was a real person with a life outside of her job. 

“ _Connie!_ ” The blonde woman looked surprised at Terry’s greeting. “ _Coming from work?_ ” Terry knew that Connie was volunteering at the local comuna -- something which Murphy complained about regularly. Not for no reason but Terry was inclined to believe that Connie could handle herself. 

" _Oh yeah, you too?_ ” Terry knew she must’ve looked like it, hands fumbling between the files she’d brought from the office and the takeaway she’d picked up around the corner. 

It was all small talk: how they were both doing, how long they’d each been in the country, how Murphy had split his pants the previous Wednesday. But Connie had stopped her when Terry was about to make her way upstairs, looking hopeful. 

“ _Hey, I don’t know if you have New Year’s plans, but would you like to come over?_ ” 

Terry was so surprised she didn’t even think to say no. 

And so, on New Year’s Eve, she found herself critically looking over her outfit in the mirror. Connie had said “casual” but this was also the first time Terry had been invited over. While her mother wasn’t strict on etiquette, Terry had been taught to dress up rather than dress down. Murphy had seen her in worse but she thought Connie deserved the respect of a clean, well-put-together ensemble.

They were staying in the apartment so she’d been able to pull out one of her nice sundresses. It sat tight at the waist, fell just above her knees, and was a flattering colour that the store owner had called _ginger_. She’d paired it with flats -- easier to slip on and off, not knowing whether the Murphy’s had any preference for shoes in the house. 

All in all, she looked fine. Sophisticated, even. 

About to head down, she made sure to grab the bottle of champagne she’d bought for the occasion. Terry cast one more look in the mirror before deciding that it was too late to find a blazer. 

She pulled open the front door and was met with Pena standing on the other side, fist raised. Heart pounding, she jolted backwards and clutched onto the champagne bottleneck with both hands -- automatically preparing to _swing_. 

“Jesus Christ!”

“ _Fuck_ , Terry!”

Her heart slammed to a stop. Pena had never said her name before. 

He didn’t say _kid_ or _Bennett_ \-- but Terry. 

“I thought I’d be a gentleman and walk you down to the Murphy’s.” 

He had lowered his fist to take up his usual hands-on-hip stance, leaning one shoulder into the door frame. Terry was highly aware of his gaze travelling along her body, resting for extended seconds on her thighs and breasts. She would later smack herself for imagining that she saw his _tongue_ creep out from behind his teeth when his eyes fell on the open expanse of her neck. 

Body flush with heat, Terry was quick to turn off the main apartment light. It was one thing for Pena to look at her but another for him to see her reaction. Pushing on his shoulder with one hand, she used the other to pull the door shut behind her.

“I didn’t know you were invited.” 

“Surprise.” 

“This isn’t necessary but...thanks.” He stopped staring and matched her small smile, softer than she was used to from him. First _her name_ and now _this_.

She should’ve just stayed at home. 

By the time she and Pena reached the apartment, her palms were sticky. She thanked whatever God existed that Connie inviting them inside gave Terry some space away from Pena. 

“I brought this,” She held up the champagne bottle for Connie’s inspection. If her grasp on the bottleneck was tighter than necessary, the other woman didn’t comment. 

“This is great! Thanks for coming tonight -- it wouldn’t have been as fun with just me and Steve.” Connie was all open smiles and arms, excitedly hurrying Terry and Pena into the apartment. 

Terry looked over her shoulder to briefly see Pena greet Connie with a kiss on both cheeks before she was distracted by a heavy hand hitting her between the shoulder blades. 

“Ow _!_ ” 

“That was a tap at most. Take a chill pill, Bennett.” 

“First of all, are DEA agents allowed to say ‘take a chill pill’?” Despite the pain radiating up her back, Terry allowed herself to be pulled into a side-hug. “Second, I didn’t know the theme was _Miami Vice_ tonight. Big fan of Don Johnson, Murphy?” 

He seemed mildly offended that she wasn’t complimenting the chinos and loud shirt look. 

“Hey _!_ I’ll let you know that Connie said I looked sexy tonight.” 

Terry thought that married life must involve a lot more compromise than she thought if Connie had told Murphy he looked good. 

“Sure,” The word dragged out and Terry wasn’t afraid to throw a shit-eating grin towards her partner. 

“Wait, what --” 

“Steve and I are so excited to have you guys over!” Connie interrupted Murphy before he could get into Terry about his outfit. 

Connie wasn’t that much older than Terry but she seemed a lot more put together. If it weren’t for Murphy’s insistence last week that Terry tell him _exactly what fucking chips and dips you like_ , she would’ve thought Connie was a veteran at hosting. 

“Everything looks great, Connie.” As always, Terry was impressed by Pena’s ability to turn on the charm at any moment. “Need any help?”

“No, no, no. You and Terry just make yourselves comfortable. Me and Steve are just gonna go grab some things from the kitchen.” 

The couple had already disappeared into the other room before Terry was able to ask if Connie wanted an extra hand. Judging by the muffled sound of a bowl hitting the ground and Connie’s exclamation of _fuck!_ , Terry deduced that Murphy was useless in that department. 

“Terry, come look at this.” 

There was her name, _again_. She whipped her head around to catch Pena waving her over, his hands clutched around a photo frame. 

Coming to stand next to him, Terry leaned down to get a closer look at what she was pretty certain was Murphy's wedding day. Connie looked like a cupcake and Murphy clearly didn’t pick out his suit with its too-short jacket sleeves. Murphy had mentioned offhandedly that it was a small affair, neither of their families liked the other, and they had been two seconds away from running to the courthouse. 

Despite his complaints about the circumstances, Terry could see that the two of them were happy in the photo. While their families were looking into the camera, the couple only had eyes for each other. 

“Very romantic.” Terry had been aiming for her words to be sarcastic but it came out as a genuine compliment. 

“I didn’t know the big white wedding did it for you.” 

“It doesn't!” Terry protested, using her elbow to hit Pena in the ribs. “Definitely not. They just look happy -- that’s all you can want, right?” 

Still holding onto the frame, Pena looked at her with curiousity in his eyes. “You ever want to get married?” 

She was taken aback at the question. While Murphy had given both his partners an insight into marriage, neither Terry nor Pena had opened up about the subject. She had suspicions that Pena harboured more than casual feelings for some of his informants. He had evidently learnt to let go of them -- but he still managed to have a firm grip on the guilt and responsibility stemming from those relationships. 

Terry wasn’t like that; she learned to love and then let go. Then again, she had nothing comparable to that which Pena had fostered and _was_ fostering. 

“I don’t know. I haven’t put a lot of thought into it.” Knowing that her parents wouldn’t be there on the day soured any fantasies. But explaining that to Pena would just put a dampener on the evening. “You?” 

“I left someone at the altar. Well, I don’t know if she ever got to the altar because I never got to the church.” 

He stated it so casually that Terry almost didn’t believe him. But he was looking at her so expectantly that it must’ve been true. What did he want her to say?

“Uh, do you want to talk about it?” She wished she didn’t sound so unsure. 

Terry was saved from Pena saying anything more when the Murphy’s came back into the room. “Chips and dips!” 

She was glad that Connie was excited, Terry’s mind still reeling at Pena’s revelation. 

He had almost gotten married? When? Where? How old was he? What was ‘she’ like? 

She saw Pena set the photo frame back down, and before he could move further, she grabbed onto his arm.

She made an executive decision. “We’re gonna talk about this later over some stronger drinks.” Terry was glad to see Pena’s only reaction was his eyebrows creeping up, tongue smacking against his teeth. 

“Not much to talk about but sure -- if you’re buying. You owe me a few rounds.” 

“A ‘few’ rounds? Pull a real number out of your ass and I’ll consider it.” 

Both of them knew that she’d buy rounds regardless of whether he gave her an exact number or not. Pena patted the hand that held onto his bicep, uncurling the fingers and giving them a quick squeeze. 

“I wouldn’t _dare_ cheat you out of your hard-earned cash.” 

Terry hated the way it was so easy for him to make her laugh. 

*******

“We should all go round and say what we’re grateful for this past year.” 

“Naw, Connie, I don’t want to.” 

“Shut up. I think it’d be nice.” 

If this evening had demonstrated anything, it was that Connie was a no-bullshit, stay-in-your-lane kind of woman. Terry would definitely be taking up any future opportunity to see Murphy get his ass handed to by his wife. 

Murphy grumbled but he still had a smile fully directed at Connie. On the other hand, Pena looked like he wanted to be anywhere but sitting through this exercise. 

“Okay, _okay,_ ” Murphy set his beer down on the table, drumming his fingertips on the surface. “Here’s mine: I’m grateful that I’m able to fucking sit and relax at home for once.” 

“That’s such a cop-out!” Connie smacked his arm. 

But Terry got it. Work had been a bitch for her since Bonilla died but Murphy had teased earlier that things had gone to shit when she arrived. Terry cuffed him over the head for that one. 

“Well, I’m grateful for still being able to work at the comuna and that Steve is still healthy.” 

Pena leaned over to whisper to Terry. “Might want to check his head's okay if he’s picking a shirt like that."

She laughed even when Murphy pointed at Pena, having overheard everything. “Fuck off, Javi. You gotta stop letting Terry influence you with her _wrong opinions_ \--” 

Terry made eye contact with Connie, the latter who only rolled her eyes and mouthed _men_ at her. “So, Terry,” Connie tried steering the conversation back before it completely derailed. “What about you?” 

“Well, uh…” 

_Shit_. 

In all honesty, her partners were what she was most grateful for. Terry had been expecting very little before she transferred -- used to dealing with misogyny masquerading as office bureaucracy. Although this work was driving her into a maze she wasn’t sure she’d ever escape from, Terry had Murphy and Pena.

Terry couldn’t just continue calling her partners by their surnames. Murphy rarely called her anything other than 'Terry'; Pena had already spent the evening throwing around her name while she’d done everything to avoid calling him by his own. She made the decision to be honest with the group. 

Okay, so she wasn’t grateful for Murphy and Pena but -- “Steve and Javier have been great partners to me. I’m grateful I got assigned to them. I would’ve hated it here, otherwise.” 

Steve and Javier. 

_Javier_. 

Steve hadn’t seemed to notice any change but Terry could feel _Javi_ sit up straighter. She didn’t put it past him to realise that she’d never called her partners by their actual names before this very moment. 

Connie was speaking again but Terry couldn’t force herself to extend her awareness beyond Javier. He was looking at her with parted lips and hooded eyes. Not even a single fingertip lifted to touch her figure and she could feel her body thrum alive. 

“I’m grateful to be here tonight.” Looking at him so intently, Terry slammed back to Earth when she realised Javier was speaking. “With friends,” He finished firmly, holding his bottle up for a toast. 

Steve and Connie were quick to raise their glasses, pressed close together. She could see the couple’s free hands fitted together under the table. Terry mechanically raised her own glass, and moved her mouth to echo a _salud!_ when all their glasses met in the middle. 

Culminating in this one evening, Terry had come to the frightening realisation that she liked Javier a lot more than she thought she did. 

As the night extended, so did the drinks. Her body relaxed into her chair and the smiles came easier than they’d ever before. Javier’s arm was casually slung across her shoulders, hand perfectly situated to be barely touching her skin. She thought she imagined the first brush of his thumb but the second time it happened, Terry made sure to look at him.

“You trying to get my attention, Javi?”

“No,” He pressed his thumb firmer to rub deliberate patterns into her skin. “I don’t know how to describe it but I feel...good. Content.” 

Contentment was a luxury in their line of work. She and Javier had nothing like what Connie and Steve had, what even _Pablo Escobar_ had going for him. 

A family.

Terry’s parents were dead and while Javier had his father, he also said it’d been years since he went to visit. The two of them were alone in Colombia except for the other, in that respect. She wondered if that’s why they clung together tonight: the odd ones out. 

“Don’t overthink it. You can do that tomorrow.” 

And when she watched the fireworks light up the sky, pressed between her partners, Terry also felt content. When Connie reached over from Steve’s other side to squeeze Terry’s hand, she didn’t hide her joy and squeezed back just as hard. 

The group split apart from their places by the window to impart on each other their wishes for the new year. Steve pulled Terry roughly into his chest, and she could feel the way his chest rumbled when he shouted, _happy new year partner!_ She laughed when Steve pressed her closer, her nose squished down as he shook his body from side to side. She was only released from his grasp when Connie swung him around and tugged him down to lay one on her. 

But Terry was soon pulled in to another, and she felt rough palms encase her cheeks. Looking up, all she could see was Javier. His frame blocked out the fireworks, the Murphy’s, the apartment. She thought she’d never seen him so beautiful, so at ease with himself at that moment. 

She didn’t bother hiding her affectionate gaze and he reciprocated with the warmth of his own. He didn’t pull her closer but still held her face, eyes seeking something in her own. Terry reached up a hand to hold the side of his neck, fingers curling into the ends of his hair. 

“Terry.” _Can I kiss you?_

“Pena.” _Not right now._

“Happy new year.” _Never?_

She smiled up at him. “Feliz año nuevo, Javi.” _I don’t know._

Terry knew that Javier understood because he let her go. Their interaction had gone unnoticed by their friends and she was happy it had. No longer gazing at each other but still pressed into each other’s sides, she and Javier stood and enjoyed the bursts of colour in the Bogota night sky. 

While that moment had made both aware of their shared desires, it was just that. 

A moment. 

He didn’t walk her back to her apartment and Terry hated herself for watching him leave the building altogether, seeking someone to lose himself in. 

What they had was what most people could only hope for: to find a friend amid the darkness. When Escobar clipped their wings, they would plummet to the Earth -- together. And when they finally grew back feathers, they would soar -- _together_. 

Their friendship was enough. It was everything that could be. 

That’s what Terry believed even as she came around her fingers, his name on her lips. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's on being in love with your friend. But I think, right now, what Terry and Javi both need is a solid friendship. 
> 
> Also -- first name basis! There's something so delicious about the name 'Javi'. I see this as a big turning point in their personal relationship, definitely fuelled by the ~NYE vibes~ but no less genuine. 
> 
> I'm really excited to get stuck into the next few plot points. The next few chapters will be dealing with Barry Seal aka Ellis McPickle, Elisa Alvarez, and Terry becoming acquainted with some Colombian politicians. 
> 
> A few random notes:  
> 1) Miami Vice started airing in September 1984. I'm obsessed with the fashion from this show and I literally couldn't resist getting Murphy into a very 80s look. 
> 
> Spanish-English translations:  
> comuna = commune; in Narcos, 'comuna' seems to refer to the local community health clinic  
> salud = cheers (for drinking)  
> feliz año nuervo = happy new year


	5. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The US government cuts funding and Terry reminisces about bureaucracy and the death of Kiki Camarena. And then, Terry and her partners catch up with a man called 'Ellis McPickle'. 
> 
> Quick note: I am completely against torture in all forms, including torture used in interrogations (like what has been depicted in Narcos). There is mention of torture in this chapter but nothing explicit. 
> 
> Thank you for all the sweet comments, bookmarks and kudos, and general readership for the last chapter! I'm so happy with how this fic is going and that it seems to be resonating with others/ I'm glad we can share our excitement with each other especially in such trying times.

**Late 1985  
** **Bogota, Colombia**

  
Undoubtedly, every single American born after 1945 had been transformed by the Cold War. Her parents had been liberal academics with a healthy, if not typical for their profession, scepticism for quote-unquote _institutions_ and _government_. While that was her home life, Terry also went to a school where the board had voted to continue showing the old “Duck and Cover” PSA to their students. 

There was nothing like an animated turtle instructing what to do in the case of nuclear war to set the youth straight. 

And while Terry had no personal grief with Communism _now_ , it had taken a long time to get over the idea that her very livelihood was under threat. But the principle of that PSA--the idea that war could be waged against something intangible like an ideology--had been repackaged again and again. First, it’d been the war on Communism. Now, it was the war on drugs. 

In the future, it’d be the war on terror. 

The CIA would do anything to defeat Communism: the end justifying the means, no matter the cost. In this case, the cost was diminished funding for DEA investigations into Colombian drug trafficking. 

“Ambassador, with all due respect, 100 thousand dollars isn’t enough to combat narco-terrorism. The CIA has thrown us under the bus by suggesting that Pablo Escobar is now ‘a local police problem’ --” 

“I’m perfectly aware, Agent Bennett, of what the CIA said of Escobar.” 

Terry bristled at the Ambassador’s tone as if she was too tired to further discuss the very large issue at hand. “But Ambassador, this is only going to _encourage_ the cartel.” 

Steve backed her up. “Ma’am, it’s likely that Escobar and his sicarios are just going to use this to get away with more attacks. We have the evidence linking the cartel to acts of terrorism right in our backyard.” 

Noonan leant back in her chair, not looking at the three agents. “I’m not going to argue further about how much money has been assigned to the DEA. Deal with it.” 

The logical part of Terry's brain argued that Noonan’s hands were tied. After all, it was the goddamn CIA _._ But then she remembered how much she fucking hated Escobar and the rage settled in Terry’s core, seeping into her bones. 

As soon as the door to Noonan’s office shut behind them, Terry and Steve were on top of each other. 

“There’s no _fucking_ way that money is going to get us anywhere,” Steve said, running a frustrated hand over his hair and making it stick up at all angles. He looked like her and Pena: dark circles and bloodshot eyes, the caffeine crash making their bodies tremble with minute shakes.

For the last few weeks, every single night without fail, Terry and her partners had sat in their shared office and scoured through thousands of documents. Javier had new information from his girls about how some of the sicarios were boasting of their violence. ‘Friends’ in the national police validated those claims, and Terry had been able to access Centra Spike transcripts without issue to cross-check names: Poison, La Quica -- even her CI, Martinez, appeared.

It was all there on paper. But the work seemed for nothing if the US government was unwilling to give them even a little bit more money to fund this intel. Bribery didn’t come cheap and Terry had the receipts to prove it. 

Terry exploded. “Did you hear her? ‘ _Deal with it_ ’? Another judge was assassinated two days ago and suddenly narco-terrorism isn’t a big enough issue for the US government?” 

“Carrillo was right, Escobar is going to make Colombia _bleed_ for this --” 

She and Steve shut up once Javier decided it was time for his input. 

“I’ll use the money to get Carrillo assigned to the cartel investigations. I’m flying out to see him tomorrow morning so I’ll be able to contact General Jaramillo to figure something out.”

Terry knew that by ‘ _figure something out_ ’, Javi meant he’d be handing over every single American dollar they had left to the General. At this point, after all the car bombs and meetings and general stagnation, bribing Jaramillo would only result in progress. In the morally grey area that the three of them operated in, paying off a high-ranking officer was pretty low on her list of concerns. 

The last year had been made-up of back and forth trips to see Carrillo. He was the only man that Terry felt all three of them had no problems trusting. Excluding Javier’s informants, the others they dealt with were total scum. Her CI, Martinez, was starting to look like he cost them more than he was worth with the shitty intel he’d been bringing in lately. 

She knew that forking over a few thousand dollars wasn’t going to mean anything when those informants found a better deal. Or, in the case of Martinez, when he decided he wanted to put on his big boy pants to get friendly with sicarios like La Quica. 

Still, one informant was better than no informant at all. 

It was better that Javier was going to see Jaramillo. His relationship with Carrillo had afforded him access to the upper tiers of the CNP-- able to go behind the red tape normally there for DEA agents. She and Steve could survive without him for a few days if it meant there’d be some actual progress. 

“Me and Steve will be able to handle things from here,” She nodded in agreement with Javier’s plans. “Carrillo is probably on too short of a fuse to deal with Steve’s accent this week.” 

“Hey, I’m right here, _compañera._ ” 

“You’re just proving her point,” Javier nudged Terry, both of them laughing at how Steve was flipping through his notebook of Spanish phrases to figure out a comeback. 

“Anyways, Steve, don’t you and Pena have drinks soon?” 

Steve had invited Javier out for drinks with Connie and _someone who works with Connie_. It was the most obvious set-up Terry had seen in a while but, at the same time, Javier wasn’t the type to turn down drinks with a lady. Connie had already rung Terry up asking if she wanted to come, apologising that her only option was a priest unless Terry herself had a date on ice. 

Well, she didn’t. Even though Connie said she was still welcome to come alone, Terry wasn’t that desperate for company that she’d sink to that level. 

“Yeah, we do,” Steve shoved his notebook away before clapping Javier on the shoulder, levelling a look at Terry. “You sure you don’t want to work some magic on a priest?” 

“I don’t want to test God right now; we don’t need another shitshow on our hands.” She was glad that got a laugh out of both of her partners. 

“You call me if you need anything.” 

Terry looked at Javier closely, realising he was serious. “Javi, I’ll be fine. Just got enjoy your little date with Steve.” 

It was all so easy, how saying his name had become such a casual movement of the tongue. The more she said it, the more it became a fixture. The sweet sensation of his name even dulled the residual sadness regarding his afternoon plans. 

“Anyways, I’ll see you later if you aren’t busy.” 

She didn’t wait around to hear his reply, simply waving a quick goodbye to both her partners -- already reaching into her blazer for her cigarettes. Terry was coming to rely on nicotine more and more to relax, the strain of work bearing its full weight as she wrestled with her role in the agency. 

The death of Kiki Camarena in February hadn’t helped. She hadn’t known the man but Robin had worked as a secretary in Guadalajara before transferring to Bogota. When Noonan published a bulletin with news of Camarena’s murder, Robin had immediately fled into a supply closet. Terry had only caught a flash of bright blue shoes disappearing behind a door -- but seeing that the secretary was the only one brave enough to wear that colour in the office, Terry was quick to rush in after. 

She spent the first hour of that day holding Robin to her chest, her friends’ sobs soaking the material of Terry’s blouse. 

When Terry read over the news herself, with every _single_ detail published to read, it had disturbed her to the point that she retched into the bin by her desk. 

She knew the risks that came with the job: it was in her contract and her signature had been dry for a long time. Morbidly, Camarena’s death had insured a certain amount of protection with the US government’s crackdown on the Guadalajara cartel. But as the days passed, she wondered whether she could die in service to her country. 

Her darkest thought had been that Javier wasn’t even a year older than Camarena. The thought had possessed her so intensely that she had pulled Javi into their office during a lunch break, pressing him against the closed door. 

Javi had looked down at her in surprise, lingering on his shirt clutched in one fist and the other pressed against his waist to hold him. When his eyes had started to glaze over, Terry realised how compromising the position was and pulled her hands away. But she didn’t leave him alone. 

“ _You okay?_ ” 

“ _Why wouldn’t I be okay?_ ” 

“ _Camarena isn’t -- wasn’t -- much older than you. I was just wondering.”_

_“Jesus, no need to remind me of my age._ ”

She often forgot about the 12-year age gap between her and Javier. He wasn’t old by any means but she’d also just turned 24 in June. When Robin had brought over a cake and sung ‘happy birthday’, Javier saw the number written out with candles. “ _Fuck,_ ” He had said. “ _I’m too old for this shit_.” 

“ _I’m being serious, Javi. This news has got my head all --_ ” 

“ _Terry,_ ” He had grabbed one of her hands, pressing it into his chest. “ _I’m still here._ ” 

Terry wondered how long he’d keep going in this job. Hell, barely 2 years in and her body was exhausted. But like him, she was under no pretence that she’d leave before she saw Escobar in an American prison. 

Or, fitting with the Los Extraditables mantra, until she saw Escobar in a Colombian grave. 

Flicking ash on the ground, Terry resolved herself to go back into the office and do the work. Even if the State Department and CIA had decided the DEA wasn’t worth their time or money, it didn’t mean she had to be complacent. 

_Put your fucking big boy pants on, Terry_ , she told herself. _Shit’s not over until you see it through._

  
*************

Something had occurred in the days between the Murphy-Pena-Double-Date and Blackbeard, one of Escobar’s accountants, being discovered in downtown Medellin. 

Steve had gone to meet up with Javier a few days before Terry joining them in the city. What clued Terry off was the unease settled between her partners. More so, how Steve was doing everything in his power to avoid looking at Javier even when stuck in a car with the guy. Last night, Terry thought he was going to punch a hole in the wall when she asked if the three of them would be getting drinks that night. 

Considering that she and Javi had split a bottle of tequila in her hotel room while Steve slunk off to sit by himself, whatever happened had been bad. 

And now the three of them had been stuck in a car for the last three hours. The car was staked out in front of a local brothel, tipped off by Pena’s _friend_ as to where they could find a former CIA agent turned trafficker, whose real name was Barry Seal but usually went by the codename 'Ellis McPickle'. 

In an attempt to clear the air, Terry had constructed a joke about McPickle and putting pickles in a jar. It wasn’t a particularly good joke but, usually, her partners would at least call her out on how shitty it was. 

Instead, she had been unceremoniously told by Steve to get her ass into the backseat. 

The stakeout, so far, had been full of long pauses and silences, only broken up by requests for a lighter and the scratching of a pen as Terry took notes. 

“You guys are worse than a married couple,” Terry pushed herself into the space between the two front seats, leaning her arms on the centre console. “I’m not the one with a psychology degree, but I could play therapist.” 

Javier having a psychology degree made a lot of sense. His people skills extended beyond his ability to fuck for information: constantly sharp, constantly aware, constantly _watching_. Even just reading his official reports, Terry figured you’d have to be blind not to recognise his critical skills. 

Which is why Terry was also surprised Javier had let Steve simmer in anger for so long. Unless Steve was right to get upset in the first place. 

“You can ask Javi here what exactly the DEA is endorsing, letting Carrillo off the leash --” 

Javier’s bribe had worked in that Carrillo was now assigned as the head of the CNP’s cartel investigations. “What did Carrillo do?” Terry wasn’t happy staying out of the loop. 

“Carrillo gave us this fucking break. Like I said, he’s got his reasons.” Javier sounded done, and Terry figured that he and Murphy had already had this conversation. But he also completely ignored _her_ question, purposefully not wanting to share details with her. 

So, Terry stopped looking to Javier for answers. She looked into the centre mirror to make eye contact with Steve and froze at what she saw: he looked _guilty._ The last time she’d seen that look was when Bonilla was assassinated. “Steve --” 

“Tortured someone. With fucking hot coffee of all things.” 

That explained Steve’s refusal of his usual morning coffee, and how he had stared so intently at her when she complained of a burnt tongue. 

Steve broke eye contact, choosing to focus on a spot of nothing in the distance. Despite the fact the car was parked, his hands clutched tightly around the wheel -- knuckles white with effort. Terry braved a look at her other partner who was already looking back at her. 

It was like he was _daring_ her to get upset. And at that moment, she hated that he thought that was an appropriate role for him in her life: to get her to submit, admitting that Steve was wrong to get upset and, subsequently, _he_ was right not to. 

Nausea settled in her lower stomach, reminiscent of bad hangovers and period pains.

And yet still, she spoke: “It got us Blackbeard. And Blackbeard got us here.” 

She was a coward.

Javier settled back into his seat; Steve’s upper lip curled and something akin to _betrayal_ flashed in his eyes. She didn’t have the balls to voice her distaste, her own anger. Worse was her self-admittance that she believed what she said. Carrillo torturing that cartel member got them the information that led to the warehouse raid, which had gotten Blackbeard, which had gotten Terry and her partners _here_. 

Her earlier rage against the CIA’s methods made her a hypocrite -- condemning ‘means’ in one agency while condoning means in another. 

In a cycle of self-loathing, she pushed more. “Would you still be this upset if someone else had given us this break? If you hadn’t seen what Carrillo did?”

Perhaps that was the distinguishing factor between her and Steve. He saw someone being tortured -- she didn’t. It was easier for her to criticise his emotions when she hadn’t been in the room when it happened. 

Despite the voice in the back of her head yelling that she was a sell-out, her questioning had gotten through to Steve, whose anger simmered into just plain frustration. Realising that he wasn’t going to say anything more, Terry slumped back into her seat.

It was another 30 minutes until the silence was broken. Javier broke out another pack and offered it up to herself and Steve. It was a small gesture but it acted like a buffer for now. 

“How often d’you come here, Javi?” Steve drawled, and Terry was glad to catch the grin forming around his cigarette. 

“A friend of mine told me about this place.” Javier was _all_ bullshit. “No, I’m serious!” 

“You’re a terrible liar,” Terry snorted. She had caught him out enough times to realise that business and pleasure converged _and_ diverged in his life. He had his informants but she’d learnt that Javier also just liked to fuck. 

Said realisation had contributed to a lot of thinking on her part. 

“Looks like a nice establishment, very _you_ \--- wait, _shit_ , I think that’s our guy.” 

The man looked like a textbook-former-CIA sleaze. Terry was out of the car before her partners, snubbing her half-finished cigarette on the concrete. She barely caught Javi’s exclamation of _Oh, my God, that’s Freckles_ before she strode over to their target. 

Even though he had been fucked within an inch of his life, Terry wasn’t surprised that Barry Seal perked up at the sight of her. “ _Hola, cariño_ ,” Seal hooked his thumbs in his belt loops, making sure to pay plenty of attention to her tits. 

“Hey, Barry, right?” She gave a shit-eating grin of her own, copying his posturing. “We obviously caught you at a good time to have a little chat.” 

Javier brought up the rear. “Or should we say McPickle?”

Her partners did the heavy lifting, dragging Barry over to the car. He was cooperative enough that Javier was even able to greet one of the girls in the doorway. 

Terry hated herself for taking a closer look at the girl, trying to work out in her head if he had a type. She hated herself even more for realising that he didn’t, giving her no clear indicator of --- _what? What was she trying to prove to herself?_

She distracted herself by commenting, “You’ve got a lot of _friends_ ,” quick to flash her teeth. Javi gave her a loaded look, eyes hooded suggestively. 

“What can I say? I’m a gentleman.” 

Rolling her eyes, Terry crawled into the backseat before her partners could shove Barry in. She situated herself just in time to see Javier shove his elbow into Barry’s stomach, clicking his tongue with a harsh grunt of _pendejo!_

But it didn’t quite wipe the lecherous look off Barry’s face which, unfortunately, Terry was the sole recipient of. “So, _baby_ , what’d it take for you to let me take you out for a ride?” 

She could smell the sweat that lingered on his body, the muskiness of his breath. His presence was overwhelming in the small vehicle, which was made all the smaller by her partners hopping back into their seats. In her effort to not look at Barry, she made eye contact with Javier in the mirror. 

_Y’okay?_ No sound came out but she saw his lips moving. 

“I bet you’d look good on your knees for me. You should’ve seen me in there with the others. I would take care of you _good_ , cariño.” 

Fuck it. 

She punched Barry in the gut and enjoyed the way the thick flesh sunk underneath her knuckles. His choked breath was just a bonus. 

“Call me cariño again and I’ll make sure it's a knife next time.”

When she looked up again, she saw that Javi’s eyes were _dark_ , so intently focused on her that she felt her breath catch in her throat. 

“I’m sure your pals wouldn’t like knowing that you’re talking to a few DEA agents, huh?” Steve spoke up. “Because we all know you’re gonna cough up some intel for us, Barry. How much you share is...sort of indicative of how much you think your life is worth to us.” 

For someone who had been upset with Carrillo’s methods, Steve seemed fine with handing out threats now. Terry wondered if that was her fault. 

It wasn’t long before they reached their destination, parking across from a house currently under construction. Following after her partners, Terry watched them drag Barry to sit down on a crate. He was an easy enough nut to crack when faced with the prospect of life in prison for simply making stops in Cuba and Nicaragua, regardless of whether he had cocaine in his planes or not. 

What Barry lacked in comparison to the sicarios was loyalty. While benefiting from drug trafficking, he was also willing to share what he called a _get out of jail free_ card. And he had prepared in advance for “the inevitable”, shoving a picture into her face to look at. 

“Holy shit.” 

This image would get them the extra funding they needed. She looked at Barry, who had gone quiet, simply watching his great plan unfold in front of him.

“Slow down, hotshot,” Terry laughed without any humour. “We’ve got to get this to the Ambassador before you can even think you’re being let go.” 

Flicking the photo in the direction of her partners, Terry felt Javier move to lean in beside her. “This is our fucking break, Javi.” 

While not that much taller than her, he still had to tilt his head down to look at her. She took a moment to take in his furrowed eyebrows and pursed lips, trying to get a read him. From what she could tell, Javier was just as shocked by Barry’s revelation as she was. 

“I didn’t mean to get you upset before.” 

That wasn’t what Terry was expecting to come out of his mouth. He wasn’t looking at her now, focused instead on Steve talking to Barry, but one of his hands was held against her lower back. She could feel his fingertips move across her shirt, trailing patterns that etched themselves into her skin. 

“Because you wanted me to make you look like the bigger person up against Steve?” 

It had felt like that. Javier had more years of experience in Colombia than both her and Steve. Sometimes it all felt a little bit like he wanted them to play catchup, even if that meant shooting down concerns over torture.

His fingers stopped moving. “No, because I don’t want to be pitted against you, Terry.”

“So then you decided not to give me a heads up about Carillo _torturing_ people, Javi? That’s a shitty excuse.” She pulled away, a hand reaching up to take hold of his chin so she could make him look at her. “I can’t have both you _and_ Steve bottling stuff up until you explode. The three of us are partners --” 

Releasing his jaw, she gestured in the little space existing between them. “ _We’re_ partners, Javi.” 

“You don’t think I fucking know that, Terry?” They were whispering but his tone cut through, making the other men in the room stop talking. She hated the knowing look Barry Seal threw at her before being distracted by Steve. “Every time I look at you, I know we’re partners.”

His gaze was accusing -- and, if she dared to think it, hurt. And despite not knowing what to do, what to say, her fingers shook. 

“Well then start acting like it, Javi.” Terry clenched her hands into fists. ”I’m not going to play mediator and sit around until you and Steve sort your shit out. I _refuse_ to be fucking left out of the loop.” 

And when the haze settled around them, their conversation starting to shift from an argument about Carrillo into _something else_ , Steve’s voice broke through. 

“Terry, get over here. Seal was just saying something about The Lion.” 

_That_ drew her attention away from Javier. Not even sparing him another look, Terry stalked over to the other side of the room.

“Barry,” She said. “Tell me everything you know.”   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, that was a bit of long one but I'm really excited to get into this part of the show! 
> 
> Now, the timeline in the early episodes is a bit whack. From the general events covered in this chapter and the next few, episodes 1x4 and 1x5 cover a period of 4 years (1985-1989). For that reason, the time headings in the chapter might get a bit more vague. The historian in me is crying but, alas, such is life. It'll be such a blessing when we get to 1990 because the timeline is just so much clearer -- so *crisp*.
> 
> Fun little chapter facts
> 
> 1) The "Duck and Cover" video was aired in 1952, around the time the Soviet Union was conducting nuclear tests. My high school history teacher showed the class this when we were learning about the Cold War, and it definitely made an impression on me. I would highly recommend giving it a watch if you haven't seen it before. 
> 
> 2) In my first year of university, one of my lecturers made a point (that now seems super obvious in retrospect) that are lot of the "wars on X" are against an ideology or something that isn't material. E.g. how do we see terror? How does how we define 'terror' affect how states decide to respond to it ("war on")? I'm not making a good case for it but it's definitely an interesting debate on the link between language and politics! 
> 
> 3) I mention the death of Kiki Camarena, who was killed in February 1985. Kiki Camarena is the main DEA protagonist of Narcos: Mexico season 1, which I'm currently making my way through! Such an awful, awful death but it had a lot of repercussions for other DEA agents as explained in Narcos. 
> 
>   
> Spanish-English translations:  
> compañera = sister/female fellow member of a group or girlfriend. I'm using the 'sister' variation of this word in the chapter.  
> cariño = term of endearment like sweetheart  
> pendejo = slang in Mexico for 'asshole' or 'idiot'


	6. Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello, I hope everyone is doing well! Again, thank you all for the lovely comments, kudos, and general reading. I really appreciate any and all feedback, and it makes me very happy to see others enjoying this fic :') 
> 
> Chapter 6 brings us firmly into 1986. Terry is presented with an opportunity to foster a professional relationship with future presidential candidate Carlos Luis Galan and his team -- a relationship that will have serious repercussions for both her career and personal life.

**1986  
** **Bogota, Colombia**

Knees locked together, hands clenched tightly around her case files, Terry was feeling much more on edge than usual. Noonan had paged her late last night to inform her about an early meeting: just the two of them. 

She hadn’t fucked up anything monumental to warrant being fired but the thought had sunk its teeth into her consciousness last night, preventing any restorative sleep. When Terry saw Steve, she almost believed him to be a hallucination. 

But she doubted her mind could perfectly conjure up the look of surprise that came across her partner’s face. He wasn’t expecting to see her, just as she wasn’t expecting to see him. At this hour, the meeting would’ve had to be important. 

Terry didn’t even know what Noonan was going to speak to her about -- was Steve there for the same unknown reason?

“What the fu --” 

“Agent Bennett, come in.” 

Her mouth snapped shut before she could throw out a _what the fuck_ at Steve, the commanding tone of the Ambassador resonating in the narrow hallway. Steve looked relieved that Terry had been beckoned over, halting any early morning conflict. He graced her with a _mornin’, Terry,_ before striding off back in the direction of their office. 

She entered the room swiftly and sat down in front of the Ambassador. Terry scanned the room, looking for a hint concerning what Steve’s meeting was about; Noonan slipped something under her desk, aware of what Terry was doing. Terry completely missed seeing that it was the photograph from Barry Seal. 

Instead, Terry focused on what she was actually here for, wiping Steve’s bizarre appearance from her mind, “You wanted to see me, Ambassador?” 

“As you are probably aware, there've been rumours going around that Luis Carlos Galan will be returning to the Liberal Party after a period of absence.” 

“Well, I _am_ one of the lead reports on it, ma’am.” 

Noonan looked unamused with Terry stating the obvious. “Washington agrees with your conclusion that Galan will be president by 1990.” 

“That’s my professional opinion, yes.” 

When Terry first arrived in Bogota, the Ambassador had made it clear that she expected the agent to eventually work between the DEA and Colombian political bodies. Considering that not even 2 months into her job the Minister of Justice had been assassinated, she had become a bit warier of the prospect. 

But Terry did her work well, despite misgivings. Luis Carlos Galan had been on the American government’s radar for a while, the Colombian Liberal Party being the best vehicle to extradition they had. Now, they had extradition --- but it wasn’t good enough not to have an ally in the top-political role. 

Galan was, if not pro-American, staunchly anti-narco. He had been consistent in that stance since he publicly rejected Escobar joining back in ‘82. His return to the Liberal Party was quickly followed by rumours that he would be running in the 1989 presidential election. 

1989 was a good while away but party politics didn’t stick to a strict timeline. Terry had written that herself in the last report, advocating for greater investment in Galan. 

“I’m putting you into contact with Galan and his team. Agents Murphy and Pena will also be involved but I want you at the head of this, alongside your usual duties.” 

Terry reeled on the inside. While she was trusted enough to do reports and obtain an informant, most of the substantial fieldwork she’d done so far was done with her partners. 

It was a good opportunity. A great one, even. But she’d seen how Steve still held onto his guilt over Bonilla’s assassination even 2 years on, and her partner hadn’t even spent that much time with the man. 

She’d seen plenty of other faces splattered across car back seats but it had never been someone she was directly responsible for. If something happened to Galan on her watch, it would haunt her for the rest of her life. 

“Thank you for this opportunity, Ambassador. I won’t let you down.” 

“I’ve set up a meeting for this afternoon -- just introductions. I trust this won’t interfere with other plans you had today?” 

Just lunch with Robin. Athough her friend would understand her desire to rush back to her apartment for a change of clothes. “No, ma’am.” 

Silence permeated the room before Noonan looked at her strangely. 

“You can go now, Bennett.” 

Standing up like someone had just stuck a pin in her ass, Terry nodded before taking quick steps to get out the room as fast as humanly possible. Rounding the corner into her office, she immediately pressed her entire front into one wall, resisting the urge to just slide to the floor.

Instead of being fired, she was basically promoted. 

“Holy shit,” She swore out loud.

“Buenos dias.”

“ _FUCK!_ ” Terry’s head smacked into the wall, scared by the sudden intrusion of Javier’s voice in the midst of her private breakdown. “Jesus Christ --” 

“Just me,” He sounded too happy to see her current predicament, ignoring her pain in favour of sending her a beaming grin over his cup of coffee. “Meeting go well?” 

“Mother _fucker_ ,” Pushing off the wall, Terry used the hand not currently preoccupied rubbing her forehead to smack Javier on the shoulder. “You need to learn how to announce yourself properly or I’ll crack my head open one day.” 

“It’s not my fault you’re too busy having a meltdown to notice I’m here. Let me take a look,” He tugged her by the hand, simultaneously swinging around in his chair to situate Terry between his spread legs. Javier’s head was positioned so his face was directly opposite her chest.

“Having a good look there, buddy?” She snarked, seeing his eyes locked in on the area. “ _Descarado!_ ” 

Moving his gaze upwards, Terry caught his amused look. She got a little bit of satisfaction from how Javier went cross-eyed as he zeroed in on her forehead: it was impossible for _anyone_ to look attractive like that. “Only a little red, Terry.” 

He prodded with the fingertips of his other hand, pressing down on the area. Flinching, she pulled back before he could cause _more_ damage. 

Definitely not because she was enjoying his attention, standing in between his thighs. 

“ _Ugh_ , leave me alone,” She crossed the room to sit at her own desk, feet propped up on top. “Noonan got me into a meeting with Luis Carlos Galan and his team.” 

The smile fell off his face. “ _What_?” 

“You saw my report, right?” He nodded. “So Noonan decided that I was an appropriate candidate, considering I proposed us investing more in him.” 

“Galan’s solid but you’ve gotta be careful out there, Terry.” Javier leant forwards onto his desk, his upper half almost entirely splayed out. At this angle, she could see the enticing lift of his hips as they almost completely rose off his chair. 

“Half of these fucking guys are in the cartel’s pockets. If not the Medellin cartel, someone else.”

“I’m aware, Javi,” She brought her feet down to copy his posture, although she left her ass _firmly_ in her seat. Terry made sure that her partner was her full focus, as she was his. “But this is our opportunity to do something good here." At the risk of sounding selfish, she added, "It's _my_ opportunity”.

“It’s not going to do anybody good if you end up dead.”

When Terry thought of Javier dying, she felt like she couldn’t _breathe_. She had dreamt about it: it was as if all the air was suddenly sucked out her lungs, and she would begin to choke. Except, in her dream, she wouldn't die. She'd just choke, gasping for air, for the rest of her life. 

She'd never expected him to think about _her_ dying. She’d never thought she’d see him with such a _distraught_ expression on his face.

“Javi.”

She said his name shortly, sharply -- enough to make sure he was really looking at her. “Nothing’s going to happen. Even if something _did_ happen, which it’s won't,” Terry was quick to tack that on seeing his face fall further. “This is our life.” 

“I know.”

His response told her everything. No matter what she said, he would let his guilt over her fester into a wound that never closed. It scared her knowing that it would be the exact same for her.

“Javi.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Everything’s going to be _fine_.” 

And as they stared across the room at one another, each cradling a pain that seemed inevitable, Terry knew that she and Javier were going to get caught in the crossfire of violence spreading out throughout Colombia. 

It was only a question of when.   
  


*******

“ _Senorita_ Bennett?” 

Her surname always sounded awkward in Spanish. It’d been a running childhood gag that her parents had tossed a coin in the delivery room: heads for Bennett, tails for Fernandez. While Terry didn’t know whether that _actually_ happened, she’d gotten a lot of joy out of her mother dramatically lamenting her daughter having such a _common_ surname. 

Her father had always teased her mother right back: _you know, Fernandez is one of the most common surnames in Latin America and --- ow! Stop pinching me!_

Their dynamic had been hilarious. Now, with each passing day, it became easier to remember her parents with less and less pain accompanying the memories. 

And so, memory in mind, Terry didn’t bother correcting her title. 

It wouldn’t bode well for Galan to be seen openly conferring with the DEA before announcing his presidential campaign, even if the campaign was run on supporting extradition to the US. So, her presence was to remain disclosed to everyone but the American embassy, the secretary who just called her in, and the three men standing in the room waiting for her. 

Luis Carlos Galan, Doctor Cesar Gaviria, and Eduardo Sandoval. 

Galan was the most personable of all three men, quickly making his way around the table to greet her. Terry took his hand in her own and shook firmly, looking him straight in the eyes as she did. By his stifled look of amusement, she wasn’t what he was expecting.

“Buenas tardes, Teresa Bennett. ¿Es así como prefieres que te llamen?” 

She laughed politely at his question, only inwardly flinching at the use of her full name. “ _Agente_ Bennett o Terry, Señor Galan. Solo mi madre me Ilama Teresa.” 

Her comment seemed to break the ice with Galan. 

“ _Agente_ Bennett,” He corrected himself before switching to English. “This is my campaign manager, Cesar Gaviria, and Eduardo Sandoval, who is also a close advisor.” 

“Doctor,” Terry was quick to greet Gaviria, hoping that she came across as respectful. “A pleasure to meet you.” 

She was familiar with Gaviria, the man making frequent appearances alongside Galan in the press and being well-known for his speech writing. He shook her hand politely but didn’t say anything. Terry figured he preferred working behind the scenes than being in the spotlight, however small this spotlight was. She then turned to the other man.

It was reminiscent of her first meeting with Javier --- the way that Sandoval tracked her movements so closely. But all similarities between the two men ended there. Sandoval was clean, sharp-suited contrast to her partner’s more casual look. He was also a full head and shoulders taller than her, making him between Steve and Javier in height, and subsequently a lot more imposing than what she was used to. 

And, despite her any of her _feelings_ towards Javier, Sandoval made Terry feel hot under the collar. She wasn’t sure it was a primal reaction after being solo for so long or a genuine first response to the man. But there was something appealing about Sandoval, although she just couldn’t put her finger on exactly what. 

But, even when his fingertips brushed across their knuckles as their hands parted from the handshake, Sandoval’s face was blank. Surprised, Terry brought her hand back down to tightly clutch her other wrist, confused. _What had she done to upset him?_

Galan gestured for Terry to take a seat, with him at the head of the table and flanked on one side by Gaviria and Sandoval, Terry across from them. 

“Thank you for inviting me to this meeting, Señor Galan,” Terry started, only interrupted by Galan asking her to call him _Luis_. 

“Of course,” She smiled graciously at her host. “I’m sure you understand why the United States has a vested interest in your political success. The Ambassador sends on her congratulations for your return to Liberal Party leadership.” 

“Because he supports extradition or because your government actually cares about Colombia?” Sandoval’s words were as sharp as his appearance. “Tell me, would you have cared about Colombia if you hadn’t been transferred here, Agent Bennett?” 

_Fuck_. 

She hadn’t done anything to get her onto Sandoval’s bad side because Terry was already there before she entered the room.

With her work, she was used to being the recipient of an anti-American tirade; but even with informants, it hadn’t stopped them from supplying her with intel. Now, for the first time really, Terry was faced with the prospect of having this political team kick her out before she could say her piece.

All in all, Terry was hoping for a _little more time_ to sort her shit out. 

She steeled herself. “The DEA is urging you to accept federal protection or, at the very least, consider accepting our presence at your public speaking events. I would most likely be the agent present. If not me, then one of my partners whose information I can provide.” 

Steve and Javier’s dossiers were encased into a single manila file which sat at the bottom of her satchel. Although handed straight over from the Ambassador, and not containing anything strictly confidential, Terry still felt like she was trading insider secrets with strangers. No matter how much she needed this meeting to work out, she didn’t _know_ these men like she knew her partners. The thought of betraying Steve and Javier made her sick to the stomach. 

“You speak as if we are not concerned about his safety, Agent Bennett.” 

Galan was diplomatic enough not to outright refuse American aid but Sandoval was another story entirely. While composed, his eyes flashed with anger reserved especially for her _._

Maybe not her, exactly -- the anger was directed more at _who_ she represented. 

“ _As I was saying_ ,” Terry cut back in. 

While she had promised Noonan to play the role of 'Good DEA Agent', she wouldn't allow Sandoval to speak over her. She'd dealt with that bullshit before, and if she wanted to be taken seriously, she couldn't lose to him. But Terry couldn’t get angry.

Such was the nature of diplomacy; the rules of the game applied more heavily if you were the odd one out: the only American, the only woman in the room. 

“The DEA isn’t here to infringe on your campaign or sideline your team members,” Terry moved her eyes away from Sandoval to instead focus on Gaviria and Galan, who seemed more inclined to listen to her. “I’m just here to make sure you know who’s backing you.” 

Terry might’ve been told to nurture ties with Galan but, at the end of the day, she was a mouthpiece for the DEA. She knew that, they knew that -- this meeting was to establish a professional relationship between governments, not friends or even _equals_. 

“It is my understanding that you saw Bonilla after he was murdered.” 

Gaviria’s voice was smooth, untextured without the anger his colleague possessed. While Sandoval directed his words at her face, unnervingly, Terry had a feeling that Gaviria was looking right _into_ her. Examining her from the inside out.

Despite initially viewing him as one to prefer behind-the-scenes work, he had the shrewdness of any other politician. 

Terry swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. “Yes, Doctor Gaviria.” 

He folded his hands, one over the other. “Did he deserve to die for refusing American protection?” 

“ _No_.” The word was quick to escape because it’d come from her gut.

Bonilla’s death was a small part of the festering growth in her mind that fed on the long hours, tiredness, and frustration that were byproducts of her job. She wasn’t on desk duty anymore. Instead, she had been thrust into a war zone. Except her war was without the resources, without the _money_ , that would give her any semblance of security. Terror enveloped her when she realised that, despite her presence, she couldn’t even promise to keep Galan alive. 

Not even the CIA had been able to stop Bonilla’s assassination. Or at least, they had made the conscious decision to not stop it which was almost worse for Galan to deal with. 

It was a gamble for his team to consider letting her in. At the end of the day, what could she really do? Despite her frustration at Sandoval, she didn’t think he was wrong to question her presence. And, despite how uncomfortable Gaviria’s questioning made her, he was in his right to do so. 

Whole governments had been toppled and propped up in the pursuit of intel, and the US was at the forefront of that action. Who was to say the government wouldn’t pull the plug when Galan was no longer was a convenient candidate for them? 

Bonilla didn’t deserve to die. Neither did Galan, whether he refused protection or not.

Terry decided that her best option was to be honest. She could salvage this meeting if she did so, even if it left her open to be strung up and split apart for all of them to see. 

“Luis, I won’t lie to you and say that your public stance against narcos and corruption isn’t a large part of why I’m here. Admittedly, I wrote the report recommending that the US government _invest_ in your presidential bid. But, in my own understanding, you don't care about narcos because you want our help. You care about the narcos because you care about Colombia.” 

She held a hand up to her chest, pressing it in, _urging_ the men at the table to see her genuineness. " _I_ find that admirable. _I_ will do what I can to make sure you see this through, in whatever way you and your team allowed me to do.” 

Her gaze dropped to stare hard into the wooden table when she was done, white noise filling her ears. She had made a personal promise, one that hadn’t been prearranged by her employers. In showcasing her admiration for Galan, voicing her personal investment in his success, Terry had made herself vulnerable. 

“My team and I will consider your words, Agent Bennett.” 

She wasn’t sure if her answers had cut this meeting short or whether Galan had nothing further to say. Either way, Terry was ready to leave. Galan smiled at her but she found it hard to process when all she could see was Gaviria’s cool gaze and how Sandoval now looked more curious than angry. 

“Thank you for your time, Luis. Doctor, Señor Sandoval.” No handshakes were exchanged as Terry decided to incline her head towards each man instead. She focused on removing the dossiers from her satchel, dropping them on the table, trying to hide the way her fingers were twitching. 

By the time she was sitting back in her car, Terry was barely suppressing her second meltdown of the day, taking in deep breaths. 

_In and out, in and out, in and out._

She couldn’t believe that she had expressed a personal opinion so early on -- had done the one thing that complicated her position as a federal agent. If Galan and his team decided they wanted nothing to do with her, it was her own damn fault. 

_In and out, in and out_.

A knock on the car window made Terry’s back spasm as she jolted to face the noise. Scrambling for a moment ( _where the fuck was her gun_ ), she only stopped when she recognised it was Sandoval standing outside. She calmed down enough to grab the lever and roll down the window. 

He seemed that much bigger to her, standing next to her car. The setting sun cast a glow on his face that partially obscured its expression, all the while making him look _so bright_ that she couldn’t focus on anything other than him. 

“You left this,” Sandoval stated plainly. He waved a flimsy placard in her face. She was confused for a moment until she patted the front of her shirt down. 

She had left her ID card in the meeting room. _You fucking idiot ---_

Terry wondered if he had seen her attempting to soothe herself in the car, and how long he waited before coming up. She didn’t bother asking herself whether he felt bad; the guy barely knew her and had spent most of their joint meeting drilling holes into her skull. 

“Thanks.” Terry plucked the card out of his hand, making sure to avoid his fingertips. 

“You’ll need it for next time.”

Terry must’ve looked surprised at the invitation to return because she saw no other reason for Sandoval’s lips to lift at their corners. It was just a little movement, not even something that could be called a smile. But it was there.

“If we are to be working together, I feel more comfortable if you would call me Eduardo.”

 _Eduardo_. 

The informality of it threw her off, and she was pretty sure she hadn’t been fast enough to shut her gaping mouth. Terry had been so sure that he disliked her enough to be completely against bringing her in as a liaison. But maybe he, along with Galan and Gaviria, had sensed her words for what they were: genuine. 

Or maybe he’d just been forced to suck it up. Either way, Terry wasn’t so worried anymore about crawling back to Noonan’s office on her hands and knees, begging for forgiveness. 

She would be coming back. 

“I’ll call your office later to confirm scheduling.” Making plans was her best bet to look competent at her job. “I look forward to working with you, Eduardo.” 

“ _Adiós, Agente_.” 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Question! I've been thinking about engaging with the fandom/readers a bit more but don't really know where to start. I was thinking about Tumblr or Twitter but if anyone's got any advice, I'd love to hear it!
> 
> Also, I'm not entirely happy with the pacing of this chapter but I hope you enjoyed it nevertheless! I've already got the next few chapters plotted out so those should be coming this week. I'm also throwing around the idea of bringing in Javi's POV for a certain part but I honestly don't know if I'll be able to capture his voice. 
> 
> Anyways, a few little fun facts about this chapter:
> 
> 1) There's a bit of a complicated history with Galan's involvement with the Colombian Liberal Party. In an earlier election, he ran under an offshoot of the main party called New Liberalism. In real life, Galan comes back into the main party in 1987. For the sake of this story, I've shifted this back to 1986. I reckon most in the political scene were aware of his strong stance against narcos and his consistency in public office roles.
> 
> 2) I have no idea what Eduardo Sandoval's role in the show was before he became head of security (Gaviria's campaign days) and Vice-Minister of Justice (Gaviria's presidency). So, I gave him a generic title. I feel awful. But, this won't be the last time we see dear Eduardo....
> 
> 3) Just a general fun fact: the first thing I wrote for this fic was actually a rougher version of this chapter. Completely whack time period, Terry still called Javier 'Pena', and she really hated Sandoval. 
> 
> Spanish-English translations:  
> buenos dias = good morning  
> descarado! = cheeky, shameless  
> buenas tardes = good afternoon  
> ¿Es así como prefieres que te llamen? = Is that what you preferred to be called?  
> Agente Bennett o Terry, Señor Galan. Solo mi madre me Ilama Teresa = Agent Bennett or Terry, Mr Galan. Only my mother calls me Teresa.


	7. Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of an argument, Terry hasn't spoken to her partners in weeks. 
> 
> ***
> 
> Thank you to everyone for their lovely comments/kudos/general presence. I'm normally a sensitive person but the positive response to this fic has made me cry so many happy tears! 
> 
> Also, thank you for those who responded about how I should engage with the fandom and readers more. I have created a Tumblr blog so please go follow me there (itssmashedavo) if you want to ask any questions, send me recommendations for accounts to follow, follow update progress, or just chat! It's a bit of everything at the moment. 
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy this chapter! :)

**March 1986  
** **Bogota, Colombia  
  
**

Their argument seemed like a blur, now; similar to a dream that couldn’t quite be pieced together. Terry remembered the wild hands moving in all directions, but the words sounded like the static of a television. She remembered her mouth unhinging in some kind of shout, shoving her way through Javier and Steve as they yelled across the desks, playing mediator. 

But there was no white noise as her hand travelled through the air and hit Steve’s face with an audible _crack!_ The skin had been bright red, a hand clearly visible on his pale skin. All three of them had gone silent: Steve staring at her, Javier glaring at the door, Terry unable to drag herself away from looking at _that hand_. 

It had been a month since then and neither Terry, Steve, or Javier had brought it up. 

On the ninth night alone in her apartment, she recalled what she had shouted. 

_You want to feel like a big man, Steve? You want to get off on the feeling of holding someone’s life in your hands? Well you’ve fucking done it now._

The words had settled heavy in her stomach, nausea washing over her in the hope she could just throw up and expel them from her body completely. 

That night, she hadn’t gotten any sleep. When she crawled into Sandoval’s office the next morning, he had stopped to ask if he was okay. 

Considering that Sandoval had only _just_ warmed up to her enough to start greeting her when she entered a room, Terry had briefly thought she was stuck in a nightmare. Except Sandoval had grabbed her shoulder and bent over in half to look at her right in the face, and her imagination wasn’t so creative to come up with the smell of his coffee breath washing across her face. 

Her lacklustre response, _just something at work_ , had been cause enough for Sandoval to share his thoughts with Galan. Even if he didn’t know what had happened, Galan gave her an excuse to get her out of work with her partners. 

If she was too busy checking security protocols with Sandoval, she didn’t have to spend her morning navigating her shared office space. If she was too busy interviewing Gaviria for a new report, she didn’t have to come up with an excuse not to go out drinking that evening. 

If she was too busy visiting the Palace of Justice with Galan to go over the new Escobar records, Terry didn’t have to go to the embassy until after 3pm. 

Except both Steve and Javier had decided today was also their day to go look over the documents. Terry only realised that when she heard her name whispered from a dark corner. 

“Terry.” 

She ignored it at first.

Standing next to Galan and Gaviria, Terry made sure to pay _extra_ attention to the CNP officer currently showcasing the files, nodding as the officer went over the number and contents. Galan had been pleased before arriving but seeing it all in front of his eyes only compounded that feeling. 

Every so often, he would look over his shoulder and _beam_ at his colleagues. While she hadn’t seen Gaviria smile all that often since they started working together, Galan’s good mood was so infectious that even _he_ had to smile back. 

For a brief moment, Terry finally was experiencing a camaraderie that she thought she’d only be able to find in her partners. 

“ _Terry_.” 

The second whisper, just slightly louder than the last, burst the little bubble Terry thought she’d created around herself and her Colombian colleagues. Worse still, the whisper had also caught Gaviria’s attention. He looked surreptitiously around the room, spotting the two other DEA agents, before turning to look at Terry. 

With a raised eyebrow in her direction, Terry was embarrassed that now Gaviria had joined his team members in bearing witness to the current spat between herself, Steve, and Javier. 

Although, she didn’t put it past Gaviria to have eventually figured that out on his own. While observant in his own right, Terry hadn’t exactly been subtle with how much time she’d been spending with Galan’s team since February. 

“ _Terry, goddammit_ \--” 

The proverbial last straw snapped. 

With Galan sufficiently distracted by their escort, Terry only had Gaviria to deal with her disappearing act. “I’ll be right back,” She kept her voice low so as to not draw any attention to them. 

Gaviria cast her a knowing look, eyes briefly rolling back over to the corner. But he just nodded, waving his hand behind him as if encouraging her to go. Squeezing his shoulder in gratitude, Terry didn’t waste any time before stalking over to her partners. 

“What the fuck is going on with you two?” 

“ _Hello_ to you, too, Terry.” 

Even though she had slapped him across the face a few short weeks ago, Steve didn’t seem upset to see her now.

For a brief moment, guilt rose up in her chest at the realisation that she’d never apologised for that. But then she remembered he went behind her back to hand-deliver Barry Seal’s information to the Ambassador, and she wasn’t sorry anymore. 

“The CNP isn’t giving us shit. We need you to grab a few files on your way out. ” 

Despite Javier being the first one to crack it at Steve, he had seemingly adjusted to the new rules of the game. And, for the first time, he was completely closed off to her when she tried to find a reason _why_ in his expression. 

“If you haven't noticed, I’m a little busy at the moment.” She threw her hands vaguely in the direction of her other colleagues. “And I’m not going to get away with carrying out ‘a few files’.”

“You need to do it,” Steve seemed less amicable now, the poor lighting throwing dark shadows across his face. “We need this.” 

“Oh, so it’s _‘we’_ now, is it? Because as I recall, you didn’t give a shit about me _or_ Javi when you decided to single-handedly kill off Barry.” 

That had been the crux of their argument. 

When Terry started working with Galan, she'd seen Steve meeting with Noonan right before her. In the adrenaline and anxiety rush of the day, she’d never followed up with him to what the private meeting was about. 

What had happened was that Steve handed over the photograph provided by Barry to the Ambassador. The Ambassador sent it off to Washington with the promise of discretion. Except, nothing was sacred in Washington and Reagan had done a whole fucking television address about the Nicaraguans. 

Terry only found out about all this when Barry Seal was shot up in Baton Rouge a few months later. So, she’d hit Steve across the face for it. 

“I got over it, Terry.” Javier spoke like he hadn’t been furious at Steve, hadn’t thrown images of the body across Steve’s desk. 

When she’d picked the pictures up, all she saw was Barry sprawled across the front seat of his car, the loud shirt print obscured by the blood soaked into the fabric. 

She hated Barry -- but that didn’t mean that she wanted him _dead_. 

“I didn’t know you spoke for both of us.” 

As a result of the entire saga, her friendship with Javier had become fraught, finding his blatant dismissal of her anger to be infuriating. “You don’t get to forgive Steve on my behalf.” 

“Because there’s nothing to fucking forgive him for, Terry. Barry died and that’s it -- _move on_.” 

“Well, I’m sorry that I think sneaking behind your partner’s back warrants an apology,” She spat out, the words tasting like acid on her tongue. 

She didn’t care to watch his expression change before turning back to look at Steve. 

“Stuff the fucking files down your pants for all I care. I’ve got meetings the rest of the day, and I don’t have time to take care of _your_ shit as well.” 

She reached Galan and Gaviria just as the camera flashed. 

When Terry shifted around to adjust the cuffs of her blazer, Galan briefly made eye contact with her. It seemed that her disappearance had not been subtle after all. 

Without even saying a word, he forgave her; she spent the rest of the tour stuck by his side. 

******

Not even a few weeks later and every single file in that room had gone up in flames. 

Terry couldn’t take her eyes off the small screen, watching members of M19 storm the Palace of Justice. She vaguely followed along with the newscaster, registering that the group had started killing magistrates. _Fuck._

Sandoval had stopped pacing the room a while ago to face out the main window, pressing his forehead against the glass. The shit was hitting the fan for them both, and neither were prepared to face their respective bosses with this development. 

All she could think about were those _files_. 

Whatever copies they had, including the few Steve and Javier had smuggled out, was all that was left of the records. All that evidence was _solid_ evidence too, enough to start building up a foolproof legal case against Escobar and the rest of the cartel. 

It was like going back to square one. Terry wanted to yank all the hair from her scalp. 

Sandoval and her had originally met up to go over preliminary planning of Gaviria’s speaking events. His public presence was starting to build up as it got closer and closer to the presidential election season; he would begin officially campaigning in 1988 but logistics took a long time to figure out. 

She wasn’t expected to travel to or even be at every event, but Terry and Sandoval had planned for her presence at those events expected to draw crowds. While not a security expert, Noonan had given Terry permission to do so. It would be covert, much like the rest of work done with Galan’s team so far. 

Sandoval had just leaned in to go over a potential visit to Soacha when his secretary burst into the room, dragging a portable television set behind her. 

So, Terry had spent the last three hours in front of that screen. Sandoval had been briefly barking orders over the phone, and at some point had spoken to Gaviria who had told him that now wasn’t the right time to come see Galan. 

Her pager had gone off some time between hours two and three, which was the only thing so far that managed to tear Terry away from the news. 

_Are you seeing this?_

Despite it being from Steve, who she was still avoiding like the plague, it didn’t feel right for Terry not to respond.

_Been following the whole thing._

_Come to Javi’s apartment tonight. Important. I was warned by someone._

She almost dropped the device in surprise. They didn’t have any informants with Communist militia connections; at least, none that Terry was aware of. But Steve had already done more than it was safe to, sharing such information via pager. 

_Okay._

The sun was beginning to set now, bleeding into the horizon. Terry switched off the television set before walking over to her colleague, who was still leaning against the window.

“I think Galan would be ready to see you now, if that’s what you’re waiting for.” 

His head snapped to the side like he’d forgotten Terry was even in the room. She couldn’t even blame him considering they hadn’t said a word to each other since the television was moved in, each existing in their own little world. 

“That’s not what I’m waiting for.” 

“It’s a bit of a shock to get over.” 

“I’m not in shock.” His response was quick despite the unfocused look in his eyes. 

Terry had heard _that_ before. 

She and every other agent said it at least once in their career. If there was one thing that DEA agents and Colombian politicians clearly had in common, it was the reversion to a state of “okay” after even the worst of disasters. 

She decided not to push it with Sandoval. Terry’s only connection to the siege was that it would make her job a lot fucking harder. On the other hand, it was highly likely that he knew people in the building. 

It wasn’t her place to play with any pain he was withholding from her. 

The desire to comfort was there, weighing down her legs to keep her from moving away from him. Terry and Sandoval were far from being friends but they’d been working together enough to get used to the other. Nothing like the way she operated with Steve and Javier...but something on the way to mutual, professional respect. 

“We’re going to stop him, Eduardo.” He turned to look at her closer, more attentively. 

There was very little space between them, and Terry’s eyes caught onto how his eyes turned a brilliant shade of blue when the sun reflected off the glass. _Beautiful_ she thought. 

“However long it takes.” 

Terry thought about Pablo Escobar as a kind of ghost: you never saw the ghost itself, only the physical destruction it left behind. It was foolish to make definite promises that Escobar could be gone in a week, or two months, or even two years. 

But she could promise to try. In this line of work, that was enough. 

She didn’t see him reach for her but Terry managed not to flinch when Sandoval’s hand fell on her bicep, lightly squeezing the flesh underneath. He didn’t say the words but she recognised what he was trying to say.

_Thank you._

Shifting away to release his hold on her, Terry peered out the window and decided that it’d be best to leave now if she was going to get back at a decent time. 

“Whenever you’re ready to talk over security, let me know.” 

The palace siege was a significant blow to the official case against Escobar but it could be repackaged into something for Galan to use. Undoubtedly, the next few days would involve a lot of reconfigurations and restructuring for his team. 

They would tell her when they were ready to talk. 

“Of course.” 

Neither Terry or Sandoval bothered with goodbyes when it was just the two of them, too used to being the ones dismissed from meetings. After packing up her things, Terry cast one more glance at Sandoval standing at the window. 

_I hope he’ll be okay._

A sudden thought but not a shocking one in the grand scheme of things. Terry made sure to pull the door shut softly, taking care not to make any noise even as she heard something like a fist hitting the wall. 

By the time she made it to the apartment block, it was dark. She’d switched off the radio only five minutes into the drive, not particularly interested in hearing Valeria Valez’s take on the siege. Practically crawling up the stairs on autopilot, Terry wasn’t sure how much more of a shit-show this day could be.

“Connie?” 

Seeing that Terry figured this meeting to be work-related, she was surprised to see Connie pull open Javier’s front door. But then her eyes scanned over the other occupants in the living room: Steve, Javier, and an unknown woman. 

Except she’d _seen_ this woman’s face before. _Seen it on a pinboard_ \-- 

“Elisa Alvarez.” The name fell out, and all heads snapped towards Terry. 

“You know her?” Steve cut in but Terry didn’t move her gaze away from Elisa. 

“Unless I somehow hallucinated seeing her name on that CIA board of M19 members -- then no, I don’t know her.” 

Elisa didn’t look like someone who was in the top-rungs of a Communist militia group. Then again, groups like these always seemed to be made up of the ‘enlightened’: people who had attended university, sat in lecturers about revolutionaries, and decided they would use their influence to _become_ revolutionary.

Terry didn’t have an issue with Communists. But considering that M19 had just burnt down thousands of vital records, members of the group weren’t on her ‘most favoured’ list. 

She addressed Elisa directly. “You knew?” 

Except Elisa didn’t answer. 

“She can prove Pablo Escobar paid M19 to storm the palace,” Javier stood up from his seat next to Elisa to face Terry, hands shoved deep into his front pockets. 

It was odd to seem him surrounded by so many people in his own home. Terry had been a few times before but it’d always just been the two of them, or them and Steve -- this felt almost _stifling_ in comparison. 

“And you had to get _Connie_ involved?” 

“ _She_ brought her to _me_ ,” He shot back, lip curling in frustration. 

“He’s right,” Connie spoke up, and Terry looked at her friend properly for the first time since she’d entered the apartment. She was wearing her uniform but had evidently never arrived _at_ work -- the fabric wrinkled from sitting down, but clean. “Elisa works with me.” 

It was a light bulb moment. 

Javier hadn’t brought up his little date with Connie’s colleague besides to mention that she was local and good-looking, but seemed disinterested in taking it further. 

He hadn’t mentioned her name but Terry figured that Connie didn’t have _that_ many colleagues. 

Terry hated that her first thought was, when Javier stood up, that he was standing in front of Elisa -- acting like he was protecting her _from_ Terry. 

The thought was juvenile but it didn’t stop the feeling of hurt that shot through her body. She automatically took a seat down on the closest chair, pressing her face into her hands. She took a moment to just sit and process what the fuck was happening. 

“I just spent the whole day dealing with Galan’s team and now you’re telling me we’re going to be harbouring a Communist fugitive.” It wasn’t a question. 

The fact that all of them were in a room together was testament enough to a single idea: that Elisa would be used as an informant to prove that the palace siege was coordinated by the cartel, not just for some grand revolutionary gesture. Convincing the CIA and US government of that would be the cherry on top of the shit cake. 

“She’ll be staying with me while we coordinate getting a visa.” 

“I’m not running away.” Elisa’s voice was hard, signifying that this conversation had been run through a few times already between her and Javier before Terry arrived. 

“You’re just fucking lucky we’re not turning you over.” 

“ _Steve_ ,” Connie, who had been sitting next to her husband, reeled back like he’d burnt her. “She came to us for help.” 

Steve only snorted in response. “Doesn’t mean we have to forget she’s a _fucking Communist_.” 

“That doesn’t matter,” Terry cut back in. “What matters is that we keep her safe.” 

For the first time in weeks, she and Javier sought each other out. Terry only saw gratitude and relief in his eyes -- he had evidently prepared for Terry to give them all a hard time after dealing with Steve. And while the anger of the past month lingered, it was no longer the dominating emotion. 

The corners of her lips turned up in a small smile, reconnecting with her partner. 

_For fucks sake_ , Terry thought. _You were mooning over Sandoval’s eyes not even an hour ago and now you can’t look away from Javi?_

She tore her gaze away from her partner, refocusing on the situation at hand.

“We’re _all_ going to agree to not tell anyone. _Absolutely no one_ , otherwise we can all say goodbye to our visas and end up being transferred to some shithole office in the middle of nowhere.” As Terry spoke, she looked directly at Steve. Seeing her pointed gaze, he ducked his head for a moment, before bringing it back up to nod. 

“Yes ma’am.” 

Her lips twitched at the smart-ass comment; Steve knew she _hated_ being called ma’am, or any other variation of a title besides ‘Agent’. 

“Fuck off, Steve.” 

As with her brief moment with Javi, the tension between her and Steve dissipated under this new agreement. Even if he had gone behind her backs, Steve wasn’t the type to break a promise he’d made right to someone’s face. 

“You’re okay with all this?” Javier’s voice broke Terry from her short but sweet reconciliation with their partner. He was watching Terry and Steve closely, processing the sudden shift in attitude. 

On a normal day, she might’ve made a joke out of the whole situation. She would’ve invited her partners out for a drink so they could shit-talk one another before accepting that they wouldn’t be able to function _without_ each other. 

Except, today had been a fucking mess. 

Terry was _so tired_. 

“Yeah.” Even if she wasn’t, Terry was now involved by proxy. She, Steve, and Javier would be treading on thin ice until they figured out how to get Elisa to safety. Because as long as she was in Bogota, Elisa was on the cartel’s hit-list. 

Glancing at the woman who brought them all together, Terry realised that Elisa was already looking at her. Terry could read nothing aggressive or defensive in Elisa's gaze, nothing that suggested she didn’t want to be here. 

Then again, Terry figured that if she were in Elisa’s position, she’d do her best to control the one thing she _could_ control: her responses. 

“Does anybody know you’re here?” 

“No,” Elisa answered immediately, confident. If she was as involved in M19 as the CIA assumed, Terry didn’t doubt she wasn’t capable of being stealthy. 

The bells of a nearby church started to ring out, and Terry counted to ten. 

“I’ll be in the office tomorrow so it won’t be difficult to get out at a decent time,” Terry informed the group. “Are you going to work, Connie?” 

“I’ll just say I’m sick. Elisa already told Father Sobrino that she was taking personal leave,” Connie answered one question and then an extra one. Terry nodded in understanding, rubbing her finger tips under her eyes. 

“You feeling okay?” 

She paused in her movement. Javier leaned forward towards her, despite the distance between them, gaze fully focused on her. Even this far apart, she could read his concern for her. 

“Of course.” _If there was one thing DEA agents and Colombian politicians clearly had in common..._

Terry bent down to gather her things up before she had time to think. “I’ll see you all in the morning.” 

She didn’t stop sprinting until she locked her front door, falling into a heap on the floor of the apartment. Trembling, Terry pressed her palms into the floorboards until she thought they’d crumble under the pressure. 

What a fucking day. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this chapter was a big one to get out; not necessarily in terms of length, but the chapter sets up a lot of future events. I enjoyed having the opportunity to explore the main trio in an argument. The Barry Seal situation in the show really highlighted for me some key differences between Javi and Steve, and I wanted to get Terry in on that action 
> 
> I also hope you guys liked seeing more of Galan/Gaviria/Sandoval! We'll also be seeing more of Elisa in the next chapter which is pretty exciting. 
> 
> A few little notes on the timeline:
> 
> 1) In real life, the Palace of Justice siege happened before Barry Seal was killed. In the show, this is reversed. Although the history student in me is *crying*, I've subsequently shifted the siege from November 1985 to after Barry Seal's death in February 1986 -- so around March 1986. 
> 
> 2) Despite studying international relations at university, I have made a lot of these political processes up. I'm taking full responsibility for literally any mistakes you see in this fic (again, history student, crying). 
> 
> No Spanish-English translations for this chapter!


	8. Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Terry comes to a realisation. 
> 
> ***
> 
> I am so overwhelmed with the response to this story! Thank you to everyone who has been reading, giving kudos, and special thanks to people who have been commenting. I really appreciate the lovely messages I've received -- they've all brought me so much joy, and I wanted to take a moment to acknowledge you guys and how much happiness you've shared with me!
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter.

**Mid-1987  
** **Bogota, Colombia**

It wasn’t a long moan. It ended abruptly like someone had clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle the volume, the sound disappearing just as quickly as it came. 

If it weren’t for the moan, Terry would have been none the wiser to what was happening.

But she hated how she now knew _exactly_ what Javier sounded like when he came. 

She had paused in front of his door, hand raised to just hang in the air -- an aborted attempt at knocking. Terry had immediately turned around and hauled her ass to the car. 

When she arrived at the embassy, Robin asked if something was wrong. She had passed over the pot of coffee to Terry, unable to hide her concerned expression: _Something happen?_

 _No,_ Terry had replied. _Everything’s fine._

She couldn’t even remember why she had gone over to his apartment so early. But she spent the rest of the day regretting that choice. 

Javier had even turned up to work on time, oblivious to what she’d overheard. He sat down at the edge of her desk, thumbing through her latest intel write-up. He even stole a red pen, laughing as he underlined where she’d written ‘ _what the fuck’_ next to a sentence about kids smuggling weapons in Medellin. 

“ _Crazy to think a nine-year-old could put a gun to your head.”_

Her reply was distracted, lacking her usual bite: " _Yeah, crazy_.”

He had looked at her weirdly but hadn’t said anything. Steve mentioned that he looked like he was in a good mood for once and Javier had simply shrugged, saying that traffic had been good. 

Considering that traffic had been shit that morning, Steve immediately called Javier out on his bullshit. Terry didn’t have the balls to straight up ask Javier if he and Elisa were sleeping together. So she hung back next to her blonde partner, only to watch Javier turn around and look them both down. 

_“Sleeping with a Communist? That would be downright un-American_.” 

Terry shouldn’t have been so surprised Javier was keeping his new relationship under wraps, considering that he rarely talked about sleeping with his other informants. She didn’t even know if 'relationship' was the right word for it. 

But she hated that this _relationship_ existed as an unknown secret between her and Javier. Although the situation was different from when Steve went behind their backs, Terry couldn’t help but think it was similar in a way; mainly, that _she_ was the one keeping secrets now. 

She didn’t want to think about the fact that she felt betrayed by Javier. 

But months and _months_ went by and Terry never said anything. After a while, it got easier to shove those feelings of betrayal away; it got easier to get lost in her work.

Things with Javier remained the same. 

She hadn’t spent any time alone with Elisa. As much as she felt sorry for the woman, Terry wasn’t interested in making friends. The less time she spent with the other woman, there was less of a chance Terry would be caught out at work. 

If the CIA knew Elisa Alvarez was in Javi’s apartment, not even the Ambassador could protect them from being tried for treason. 

So it was odd that, on this particular Thursday afternoon, no one was in the apartment except for Terry and Elisa. Connie had returned to working at the comuna, and Steve and Javi were out. Terry and Elisa sat across from one another, neither saying a word. 

It felt different to see Elisa now, knowing that she’d slept with Javier. 

_Is sleeping with Javier,_ Terry corrected herself. Because she didn’t think that it was a one-off situation: Javier had long-term informants for a reason. 

Despite months of suppression, possessiveness crawled up her throat and Terry had the sudden urge to _rage_ at Elisa. She hated that feeling because she had no right to feel that way. Even more so, it wasn’t right to feel that way. 

Elisa had done nothing wrong. _Javier_ had done nothing wrong. 

So, Terry did her best to purge those toxic emotions, to distance herself from whatever was going on between her partner and Elisa.

“Javier is coordinating with a friend to set you up working at an orphanage in Cumaral. From there, it’ll be easier to move you to the United States, possibly under the Witness Protection Programme --” 

“I’m not leaving Colombia.” Elisa’s answer was practiced.

“What are you staying here for?” It was a genuine question. 

The bodies of Elisa’s boyfriend and other M19 members had turned up a few days after the siege, dumped in some nondescript part of the city. Terry hadn’t enjoyed turning those photos over to Elisa, who had just stared at them in silence before retreating into the spare bedroom. 

Elisa’s grief was a stark contrast to the reception by Terry’s Colombian colleagues.

Galan was against corruption in all forms: everyone knew that M19 had been given cartel funds in return for attacking the Palace of Justice. Therefore, M19 was just another corrupt Colombian group that his entire campaign levied attacks on. 

The biggest point of contention between Gaviria and Galan was that Gaviria expressed some hesitation regarding the overenthusiastic campaign against the narcos. But even Gaviria was happier now that the M19 leadership was in tatters: _this is better_ , he said.

Sandoval had no sympathy for any groups that worked with and _for_ the cartel; he was friends with two of the magistrates killed. 

Surrounded by people who felt they were better off without M19, Terry had a hard time looking at the situation from Elisa’s point of view. 

“I joined the guerrillas to _fight_ for my country: to fight against greed, poverty, injustice,” Elisa stood up from where she’d been sitting, pacing in front of Terry. “If I run away, I am throwing away _everything_ I fought for. I cannot do that.” 

Did Terry have anything similar to that -- a cause to fight for? 

By profession, her cause was the war on drugs. She believed that the world would be a better place without hard drugs and the people who profited from trafficking those drugs. 

Then again, the American people were the driving force behind the Colombian drug trade. Consumerism was on the rise and people had the money and means to buy whatever they wanted. There wouldn’t be the Medellin cartel without the Americans who were willing to spend $275 for a gram. 

The war on drugs wouldn’t end with Escobar’s death -- it wouldn’t even end with the dissolution of the cartel. As long as there were buyers, there would be sellers. And as long as the US was willing to fund their proxy wars, there would be war. 

So, no. Terry didn’t have a cause anything like what Elisa fought for. 

“If Escobar shot up your boyfriend, what do you think he’s going to do to you?” 

Elisa stopped pacing to stare Terry down, all anger and grief. “You have _no_ idea what he was like. He cared about making sure the Colombian people had access to all opportunities.” 

“I don’t care about what he was fighting for, or what he was like. I’m not _buying_ what you’re trying to sell to me,” Terry stepped closer to the other woman. 

“Oh, so your government cares about your people unlike _us_ , who have to fight for what we believe we deserve?”

“I’m not doing this because I believe in your cause," Terry was so close that she could feel Elisa’s breath wash over her face. “I’m helping you because it would _destroy_ Javier if it was your body that turned up next.” The part about her not caring was not entirely true. 

But Terry hadn’t meant to mention Javier when she was trying _so damn hard_ not to. 

She tried and failed to keep the panicked look off her face, immediately taking a step back and sitting on the nearby steps. Rubbing her eyes, all Terry could think was _you stupid, stupid woman._

Elisa followed and sat next to her, quiet. The only sound in the room was their breathing: Elisa’s slow, Terry’s staggered. 

“I didn’t mean that.” Terry didn’t specify _what._ “I’m sorry.” 

Again, Elisa had done nothing wrong. The apology came easy, perhaps too easy; perhaps said in order to avoid a greater conversation between the two of them. 

“Javier is a good man.” Elisa’s head was turned to look somewhere at the blank wall in front of them, the clean surface easier to speak to. Her eyes were open, honest, even if not directed at Terry. 

“I fell in love with a good man. But a good man can drag you down somewhere you were never meant to be,” Terry flinched as Elisa’s head turned to look at her. Elisa’s gaze was imploring, trying to impress on Terry a truth that she herself had been blind to. 

“Do you know what I’m talking about?” 

Terry’s mind first went to her ex-boyfriend in Seattle. It hadn’t felt bad to be in love with him. The two of them led such separate lives but came together for brief, passionate moments that left her aching for more. But it was only two months into their relationship when Terry realised that they were never going anywhere. For all the passion they had, they both lacked the will to make it work in the long-term. 

The break-up had been sad but it wasn’t earth-shattering. Her father had often said that “ _some people are only meant to be in your life for brief moments, and that’s okay”_. Terry had put that advice into practice and left that ex-boyfriend behind in Seattle so she wouldn’t ever have to think about him in Colombia. 

But then she thought about Javier. 

Despite the fantasies and the constant _yearning_ that sat deep in her chest, thinking about him this way still felt forbidden. Javier was simultaneously someone so close and yet so far out of reach. He was her friend but existed in a much different realm than others. 

It would be so much easier if they weren’t friends, if she only had mutual attraction to act on without thinking about the _so many other ways_ their lives were entangled and entrenched within one another. 

Sometimes, it felt like her and Javier gravitated towards each other. Similar to two planets in orbit that drew together but at some point reached that invisible spot where they just sprung apart again. But still, her and Javier orbited, no matter the circumstances or distance or other people present. 

But Terry didn’t feel like Javier was gravity. He didn’t keep her pinned down to Colombia, and didn't use his pull to drag her down with him. 

She couldn’t explain why she _just knew_ that Javier would never hurt her. 

It was a gut feeling, justified by the literal hundreds of hours they had spent together: working, researching, drinking, laughing, fighting, pushing and shoving and all other things shared between the two of them. 

Terry was already in the depths that Elisa spoke of. But loving Javier hadn’t put her there. 

Her pause was long, thoughtful. She answered, “No.” Elisa looked both disappointed and surprised with her answer. 

Maybe she had been expecting something more from Terry. Or, maybe, she had assumed that Terry’s relationship with Javier was similar to her own. 

“I am where I am because _I_ made choices. Not choices on who I love but choices on what I wanted to do with my life.” 

Terry was so sure she didn’t have a cause that gave her life meaning and purpose. But she was starting to see that perhaps she was wrong. It might not have been the grand revolutionary causes that Elisa fought for but it was something. 

Bringing down Escobar was the one thing that connected Terry to everything she held dear: her shitty apartment that had become home, the friendship she found in Steve and Robin, and whatever she had with Javier. 

Hunting a narco was her cause. With all the good that came from it, Terry didn’t want to think about the question that brought it all together.

_What would happen when it was all over?_

Both women went quiet and didn’t speak until Javier returned. 

******

“I’m worried Gaviria is too conservative for Galan.” 

“Why are you telling me this?” 

Sandoval shot Terry an unamused look, tapping his foot underneath the desk. She could see his whole body vibrating with the movement; Terry realised early on this was a nervous habit that he managed to hide to most and only display in his office. 

“Because Galan could get rid of him.” 

_Tap tap tap tap tap._

He seemed very reluctant to actually give Terry a straight answer, despite being the one to call the meeting.

She’d been on her way home when she’d gotten a call from Robin, fumbling with her newly-fitted car phone.

“ _Jesus, Robin, I almost crashed this fucking thing_.” 

“ _Well, good thing you didn’t, because otherwise nobody would drive me to my doctor’s appointment tomorrow_ ,” Robin was very matter-of-fact, and Terry could clearly imagine her friend twirling the phone cord as she reminded Terry for the fifth time about the appointment. 

“ _9am sharp, I know_.” She threw up her middle finger at another driver despite being the one who almost caused an accident. 

“ _Anyways, Eduardo Sandoval called asking for you. Are you sure nothing’s going on --_ ” Terry hung up before Robin could get any further with her questioning. 

Subsequently, she found herself sitting in Sandoval’s office at 10pm on a Friday night. 

Not that she had anything else going on. Steve and Connie had date night, Robin had been asked to cover a later shift, and Javier had gone home. _To Elisa_ , her mind unhelpfully supplied. 

With Sandoval’s incessant foot-tapping, Terry found it hard to get her brain to work at a decent pace. “First off, stop that,” She pointed at his legs. “Second, why are you worried about Gaviria unless you’re gunning for his job -- which you’re not, right?” 

Her question was a bit of an after-thought. Sandoval hadn’t expressed any interest in speech-writing and had offhandedly mentioned something about having worked in the Ministry of Interior and Justice.

But politicians, no matter where you were, had the historical tendency to be a bit sketchy with the competition. Sandoval didn’t seem like the type to backstab his friend but less likely things had happened. 

“No,” He just rolled his eyes at her like she’d said something ridiculous. “I work for Galan but Cesar is my friend. If he left, I would go too.” 

As much as Terry proclaimed she didn’t like Sandoval, she did. She liked him enough to turn up at his office this late, and she liked him enough that she’d be upset if he left. “I don’t think he’s going to go, despite whatever reservations he has about Galan’s anti-narcos activity,” She stood from her seat to instead lean against his desk, one hip propped up just to rest on the edge. 

“I’m worried about him.” 

Sandoval wasn't the type to share his feelings; Terry almost fell off the desk in surprise. But when she looked at him, his entire face was downturned. His eyes were staring holes into his own thighs, just watching the muscle underneath shake as his foot moved back and forth, heel to toe. 

_Tap tap tap tap tap tap._

“Gaviria’s not going to leave.”

“I'm worried about Luis.” 

“Nothing you’ve found suggests that he’s in any more danger today than he was yesterday. Nothing I’ve found suggests that _your_ research is wrong.” Terry made sure to look at Sandoval as she spoke, even if he couldn’t look at her. 

_Tap tap tap tap tap tap._

That was fucking _it._

She bent down and pushed her hand against his thigh, stopping the shaking. Terry didn’t realise what she’d done until Sandoval’s head snapped up and almost smashed his forehead into her own. 

The words got stuck in her throat, like they had suddenly developed claws to rake down her oesophagus as she tried to find the way to say _I’m sorry_. But nothing came out and her hand remained on his thigh, frozen. 

She didn’t know how long they stared at each other but her eyes closed when he moved forward. When his hand reached up to hold the side of her face, fingertips brushing over her temple, Terry leaned into his touch. 

It had been so, so long. 

Sitting on his desk, she was finally taller than Sandoval. Terry used this extra height to her advantage, pressing down _into_ the kiss. His appreciative groan was swallowed by her, and her own hand began to travel across his face and along his shoulders until they found their grip on his collar. 

She tugged the top button loose, mouth never moving away from Sandoval’s, and she felt his fingers roughly tug her blouse out of her pants. With access to her bare skin, his large hands spread across her ribcage to tug her closer, standing up from his seat to better press the length of his body against her own. 

Terry’s hips lifted, desperate for contact. Sandoval returned the favour by pressing _down_ , pushing her legs apart to accommodate the breadth of his hips. Her head having fallen back, Terry felt his lips travel along her neck to rest against her collarbone, tongue escaping to taste the build-up of sweat in the dip.

Her eyes opened and stared at the ornate ceiling. Her gaze then travelled down and immediately made contact with his heavy, hooded, _so so blue_ eyes. 

_What the fuck was she doing?_

Terry scrambled her way off the desk, shoving at his shoulders. She barely recognised the muffled sound of Sandoval calling out when she flung open the door.

The thing that stood out most was that couldn’t stop thinking about _Javier_. Javier, who was probably fucking Elisa while she almost got in on with Sandoval on his desk.

She couldn’t quite put a name to the nausea that rose up within her. 

She didn’t stop to sit in her car, too worried that Sandoval would chase her out to the parking lot. She didn’t recall whether she ran through one red light or three, and whether her heart had always pounded _this hard_ in her chest. It was only when she parked in front of the apartment block that she took the moment to look at herself. 

Her eyes caught onto the blooming red marks on her neck, bright and visible against the paleness. When she stumbled out of the car, Terry realised her shirt was still hanging out -- crumpled, teased open, clinging to heated skin. 

Terry was so in her own world that she didn’t see Javier watching as she climbed the steps to her apartment and shut the door.   
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here we have it, folks: Terry coming to a full realisation of her feelings for Javier, lamenting on them a bit, and then finding herself entangled with Sandoval! These two were going to hook up later in my original draft but I wanted to get that ball rolling sooner. I think it's an interesting response for Terry to fall into a bit of a thing with Sandoval especially because of the Javi/Elisa dynamic. I will say that Terry's realisation of her feelings is a big turning point. No matter how her relationship with Sandoval shapes out to be, that knowledge will not be going away. 
> 
> Let me know your thoughts!
> 
> Also, just a quick note on this chapter. I was really tired this week and I feel like that translated into writing so please forgive me if this chapter isn't up to usual standards. Over on my tumblr page, I've been ranting a bit about the timeline. For my sake, this chapter and the next one will be vague in the time-setting until we get to Chapter 10: August 1989. It'll make me feel a lot better writing the chapters out if I'm not stressed about filling in so many gaps! I hope you guys can understand. 
> 
> Anyways, here are some short fun facts from this chapter:  
> 1) The price per gram of cocaine I mentioned is from 1990. I found this on the 2006 World Drug Report (Volume 2) which has some interesting data/price points on cocaine from around the world.  
> 2) As we know, Sandoval eventually becomes the Vice Minister of Justice under Gaviria. I just thought it was cool the Ministry of Interior, and the Ministry of Justice and Law, weren't separated until 2011.  
> 3) Car phones were real. They were super clunky and I'm making an educated guess to say that they were the cause of a lot of accidents. I would highly recommend looking up some pictures for reference (the phones, not accidents)!


	9. Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A storm before the storm. Terry catches up with three important men: Martinez, Sandoval, and Javier.
> 
> ****
> 
> Hello! Thank you to everyone who left such kind comments for the last chapter; I truly appreciate every single word. Extra thanks to everybody else who has read, left kudos, bookmarked etc -- I'm unbelievably grateful to you all for enjoying this story. I hope you like this chapter :)

**Medellin, Colombia  
  
**

The only person that Terry had spoken to about Sandoval was Robin, considering that she forgot to set an alarm and subsequently made her friend late for the _very important doctor’s appointment, Terry! Shit!_

Robin hadn’t been able to stop talking when they finally got into the car, huffing and puffing as she strapped in, yelling at Terry for driving too fast. 

“ _Are you trying to get me killed? Do you not want to be a godmother, Terry? Because my sister will finally stop complaining if I pick her instead_ \---”

Terry did feel bad about cutting so close to the appointment time considering how badly she knew Robin wanted a baby. The clinic wasn’t far away but it’d taken Robin months to schedule regular appointments.

But Terry was distracted for a good reason. 

“ _I almost fucked Sandoval on his desk last night._ ” 

“ _STOP THE FUCKING CAR, TERRY._ ” 

Robin turned up to her appointment 45-minutes late, saying that she’d been caught in morning traffic. What had actually happened was that Terry pulled into a random Bogota sidestreet before coughing up every single detail of the previous night, needing to explain it to someone she trusted. 

It helped that her friend wasn’t judgemental. In fact, Terry thought the better descriptor was _enthusiastic_. Robin had literally screamed in her face before hauling Terry by the shoulders into a tight hug. 

Robin’s reaction was far better than Terry’s own feelings about the event. 

She’d spent the whole night staring at the ceiling fan, counting the rotations of the blade. If she stared hard enough, the cracked plaster and metal wings transformed into the more intricate ceiling of Sandoval’s office. Doing so, she could almost feel a phantom hand tightening around her waist.......

She kept counting rotations until the sun came up. 

By the time Terry mustered the will to climb out of bed, Robin had already been rapping her knuckles on the front door for 10 minutes. 

The guilt of _almost_ sleeping with Sandoval equally matched the frustration that she _didn’t_. 

While she’d been happy to book the weekend off for herself, Terry was now regretting that choice, because at least work wouldn’t have given her so much time to think. Not just think, but process. 

She felt like she’d been hit by a busload of information. All of the pieces had been there, the tension had been building for months -- she shouldn’t have felt so caught off guard. But trying to reconcile her feelings for Javier with _whatever_ she had with Sandoval was easier said than done. 

Terry felt guilty about kissing Sandoval because she knew that her feelings were not all there. She liked Sandoval, thought he was attractive, and believed that he could make a great partner. But what kind of woman would she be if she strung him along, fully-well knowing that her own feelings were so confused? 

Robin had encouraged her to go and talk to Sandoval. Instead, Terry requested a flight to Medellin for the following morning to meet with her CI. 

Martinez had changed drastically over the last three years, courtesy of moving up in the ranks. More visible tattoos, a bit more of a swagger to his step, and gold jewellery that hung around his neck and circled more than a few of his fingers. He had lost the puppy fat which had made him so approachable in the first place ( _an easy target,_ Terry had once thought) and was now all harsh angles and shadows. 

He still greeted her the same: “ _Corazón_ ,” Not moving from his seat, his arms opened as if to beckon her into an embrace. “¿Cómo estás?” 

The park was still full enough that the two of them blended into the crowd, the rapidly setting sun doing nothing to deter locals from socialising. For appearances sake, Terry stepped into his arms and planted a short kiss on his cheek. 

Hidden from the view of others, her fingernails dug into the spaces between his ribs -- he flinched. “Luis.” Releasing him, she sat down next to him on the bench. 

For a moment, she let herself watch a few children clad in uniform run in between trees. _Not a care in the world_ , Terry thought. 

“I wasn’t expecting to see you so soon, Teresa.” 

After so long working with him, it had gotten easier to ignore the endearments and her name, no matter how she still internally recoiled at his ease in using them. “You said you had something for me.” 

No matter how he presented himself, Martinez wasn’t high ranking like La Quica or Poison. But his name had been appearing more frequently as of late, starting to run around with those same sicarios. In essence, he'd become a better asset. 

Terry highly doubted Martinez was capable of holding a gun to someone’s head and pulling the trigger. He was more the type to stuff women full of cocaine and send them off to die in a foreign country -- a scumbag, but one more likely to get somebody else to do his dirty work. 

“You know how it is, corazón. Haven’t I done enough these past years for you to trust me?” His words were sweet but his tone knowing, dragging out the discomfort, savouring her frustration.

Martinez had brought her decent intel but it didn’t mean she trusted him not to stab her in the back when it became convenient. The only thing stopping him was that he wouldn’t have anywhere to hide if another DEA agent turned up dead.

He was a means to an end for Terry. If he could get her closer to those sicarios, to Leon, to Escobar, it meant she could get rid of him. 

“Get to the fucking point, Luis.” She was already so on edge that she didn’t see his gaze harden.

“You better watch your back, Teresa.” 

Terry swung her head to look at him properly, hearing his words escape as a hiss between teeth. “Is that a threat?” Her voice was cool, collected. 

Martinez stood up from the bench, towering over her. His body was silhouetted by the setting sun, the coming darkness throwing more angular shadows across his face. For all her dismissal of him, Terry felt a flicker of fear travel up her spine as he made a point of glaring down at her. 

Javier had warned her, once, not to underestimate guys like Martinez: _at some point, they’ll get desperate for a leg up._

Terry could see elements of that now but she refused to show any weakness in front of the man. If she started fearing Martinez, she was better off dead. 

“I’d hate to see you go down with your colleague.” He made a move to scuttle off but Terry was quick to follow, clutching onto his upper arm.

“What the fuck does that mean?” 

He shook her grip off and Terry noticed the crescent marks left behind by her nails, sharply contrasting against Martinez’s tattoo of the Virgin Mary. “El jefe doesn’t forget.” 

Martinez left her standing in the middle of the pathway, disappearing into the sea of evening commuter traffic. 

_Escobar doesn’t forget._

  
  


*******

**Bogota, Colombia  
  
**

When Terry was 8, her parents took her to see the Grand Canyon. Her father had held her by the waist as he lifted her up to the barrier, letting her peer over the edge to have a glimpse of the cavernous landscape below. It had been so overwhelming for someone so small to see the world that way. 

Her father’s grip had been firm, safe: _you’ll never fall when I’ve got you, Teresa._

Standing in Sandoval’s office felt like peering over the edge into the canyon, seeing the river flow between jagged, burnt rocks. Except now Terry was in danger of free-falling off the edge with no one to hold her back. 

He’d only spoken so far to thank his secretary for letting Terry in, and then the room had been enveloped in silence. Sandoval had moved away from his desk to stand by the window and she hadn’t moved any further into the room, standing stock-still by the door. 

The desk beckoned her. 

When she found the courage to open her mouth, he beat her to it. 

“I heard you went to Medellin.” Even from this distance, Terry could see how his breath fogged up the glass. If she dared to look closer, she would see that Sandoval was looking straight at her reflection, even if he hadn’t turned around to look at _her_. 

“I got word from an informant. That’s why I came here, actually --” 

“Not to talk about what happened the other night?” 

Sandoval had always been one not to skirt around conversations even if it meant maintaining the peace. She flinched at his flat tone, recognising that she had obviously hurt him more than she expected. 

Terry hesitated before responding. “My informant insinuated that the cartel will be targeting Galan -- if they’re not already.” 

That caught Sandoval’s attention, his head whipping around. “He said that?” 

She nodded, taking a brave step forward. “He did. That’s why I needed to come see you--” Terry swallowed the lump in her throat. “--why I _wanted_ to come see you. This is what we were talking about.” 

A frustrated sigh left Sandoval’s mouth as he stalked away from the window and towards his desk, rifling through papers in the drawer. Whipping out a stack of files, he started to flip through the papers as he spoke.

“We heard similar news about this a few nights ago.” 

“A few nights ago?” She echoed. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” 

Uncapping a pen with his teeth, Sandoval levelled her with a tense look. “I tried calling your office to tell you but you had already run away to Medellin.” 

_Run away? What the --_ “How dare you? I was doing my job.” 

She jumped off the edge of the cliff and crossed the room, slamming both hands on the desk. The loud _bang!_ tore through the quiet room, and Sandoval looked at her hands before looking up to glare at her. 

“You said you weren’t going to be in Medellin for another month, and somehow you conveniently bring forward the date when _this_ \--” It didn’t seem like she was the only one lost for words to describe their situation, Sandoval frantically gesturing in the space between them. 

“Because I freaked out, okay? Is that what you want to hear? That I ran off to Medellin because I couldn’t fucking handle what was happening?” Terry didn’t realise how loud her voice had gotten until she felt her vocal chords _strain_. “What do you want me to say, Eduardo?”

The easiest way to describe the past months--the past _year_ \--was a speeding train. But imagine if said train was impossible to stop, and the only thing Terry could do to prevent it from derailing was to set down more tracks faster than the train moved. If she could control its path, it wouldn’t just fall off the edge; if she was _fast enough_ , then her job was done. 

It was exhausting to keep up when it was doomed to fail, something ominous in the distance already ready for the train to crash into. Her mind couldn’t help fixating on what Martinez said: _el jefe doesn’t forget_. Martinez wasn’t a honest man but he had been so serious, so clear with his intention. He wanted Terry to know that whatever she did, Escobar was one step ahead. 

She couldn’t do jack-shit if Escobar had been the one to cut the train brakes in the first place. Terry was just there to be a witness. 

“We will find a way.” Eduardo’s words broke her from the cycle of self-loathing that was becoming all too familiar. 

“A way to what?” She shot back, the defensiveness of her response diminished by how she stuttered the words out. 

“A way to run towards each other, instead of away.” 

“I want to but --” 

“When everything has calmed down, we can reconvene.” _Trust Sandoval to make it sound like a meeting,_ Terry thought. 

But despite his delivery, she found herself comforted by his words. The words gave them both the freedom to go away and think about what had happened -- to come back together when there wasn’t so much anger and frustration. 

It was more than Terry was expecting. 

“I don’t want to hurt you, Eduardo.” 

When his hands lifted to cradle her face, she thought about how she’d been in this position once before, not ready to take the leap. But now, even if she was still scared of falling, Terry had hope that Sandoval would be there to catch her. 

She was fully, _fully_ focused on the man in front of her. 

“You won’t.”

This kiss was soft and wrapped up in dreams. 

One, a promise for more. Two, an acknowledgement of shared wants, needs, fears. Three, a wish that the world around could make space for them. 

Terry pressed closer even knowing that in this life, promises and dreams and wishes were all things destined to fall apart.  
  
  


*******

Elisa had moved into the Murphy’s apartment a couple of weeks ago, leading to endless complaints from Steve about how Connie was spending less time with him and more time with _her_. Javier hadn’t given a full explanation to why she'd moved out but he’d said _it was about time_. 

Terry had found it odd that he didn’t even come across as sad or hadn’t even become angry when Steve made some pointed remark about Javier having to go back to the brothels. She’d whacked Steve over the head for that comment but her other partner didn’t even move a muscle, remaining hunched over his typewriter to continue working. 

She didn’t know much about their relationship but she figured he’d be a little upset about Elisa moving on to Cumaral. 

It felt strange to be in Javier’s apartment and not see Elisa around. 

But he invited her over for a drink after work and he hadn’t done that since they’d started hiding Elisa. For once, everything seemed like it was back to normal. Except there was an obvious, _felt_ loss of Elisa in this space and Terry could feel bruises along her sternum that were a physical reminder of Sandoval. 

In reality, everything had changed. And yet the two of them still sat down, shared drinks, and laughed together. 

“---the _whole_ bookcase fell, one shelf after the other! I thought I was going to die: death by drowning in a sea of American literature. A _truly_ patriotic way to go!” 

The whiskey was dangerously close to sloshing out of the glass with how hard Javier threw his head back, arms following with the rest of his body. Her own body mimicked his shakes, laughter trapped between her ribs and causing a stitch in her side. 

“And then -- and _then_ , my dad comes in. And he immediately drops to his knees and screams at the ceiling, cursing God for such a terrible day.” Despite how taken aback Terry was at the time, she now looked back at that memory and found it hilarious.

“Turns out he’d dropped _two_ cups of coffee on himself, tripped in front of his postgraduate lecture, and got a strongly-worded phone call from my mom about not leaving the chicken out to defrost that morning.” She pointed her glass towards her partner, the tequila appearing like liquid gold in the low-lighting of Javier’s apartment. “Worst ‘take-your-kid-to-work-day’ ever.” 

Terry downed the rest of her drink to the sound of Javier wheezing. 

“Sounds like you were a handful as a kid.” He controlled his laughter enough to spit that out, but Javier's mouth was clearly formed into a smile even visible under the moustache. 

“Like you weren’t?” 

“No _p_ e,” He puckered his lips so the ‘p’ came out as a smacking noise.

“Oh come on,” Terry was doing a bad job at hiding her amusement. “That’s bullshit. Mr Suave DEA Agent, I-left-my-fiance-at-the-altar, _wasn’t_ a troublesome kid?” 

“Hey!” He jumped up from his seat, jabbing his finger into her side as he moved towards the kitchen counter. The alcohol had loosened him up enough to add a few little hip swings into his step, which Terry looked shamelessly at. “I should’ve never told you about that.” 

“How could I forget? That was such a good night." It’d been New Years when Javier shared that little fun fact. 

"Yeah, it was."

“Jesus, I just realised that was almost four years ago.” 

The years had passed in the blink of an eye. They’d already rung in 1989, which hadn’t been celebrated like they did back in the day. Having this evening off and being able to spend it together was a rarity nowadays.

She doubted they’d get this opportunity again for a while. At least until Galan was officially elected. 

Then she could breathe. 

The sound of a cupboard slamming broke Terry from her thoughts. “Out of whiskey.” Javier sounded so _gruff_ when he was disappointed, and she could see the forlorn look on his face as he slunk back to his seat. 

Considering that there were three empty bottles on the table, Terry figured now was a pretty good time to stop. She reached over to grab her jacket from the floor, grabbing a cigarette before tossing the rest of the pack at her partner. 

“Can’t let you die of alcohol poisoning before the lung cancer hits you. That’d just be _unfair,_ ” She joked as the both of them inhaled and exhaled, smoke intermingling in the air. 

“Why?” 

“And have you die prematurely, Javi? What would I do with myself?” Terry meant for it to come out lighter but her words fell too flat, too serious. The smile on her face disappeared. 

“I wouldn’t leave you alone like that. What d’you take me for, a scoundrel?” He didn’t have a smile either, levelling her with one of the most serious expressions she’d ever seen on his face. It scared her, the _depth_ of his feelings that she could read.

She looked away. 

“Terry,” She didn’t move her eyes away from the cigarette in her hand. “ _Terry._ ” 

Her name was said firmly, more power behind it than before; she looked up. A shiver went up Terry's spine but she quelled the motion in favour of taking another drag of nicotine, feeling the smoke swirl in her lungs. 

“Who’s the guy?” 

Her heart sunk so deep it was like her heartbeat was _pounding_ along her spine, rattling the delicate bones into a painful spasm. 

“What?” Terry choked on smoke. 

“I saw you that night. I saw you step out of your car and fix your shirt before running up to your apartment. I didn’t think you saw me,” He didn’t look away from her and she didn’t have the will to even _try_. “I have an idea of who it is.” 

It was a simple deduction on his part. She was spending more hours with her Colombian colleagues than ever, so it was highly probable to be one out of the three. But Galan and Gaviria were both married, and he had a good enough memory to remember her saying once that she wasn’t interested in married men. 

He knew she worked closely with Sandoval, and spent more time with him than the other two combined. So, if his guess was Sandoval, it’d be an educated guess. 

But Terry wasn’t ready to say the words out loud. Instead, she said: “I don’t need to tell you then, do I?” 

Even though Javier would be the last person to judge her, Terry still worried that admitting to a relationship with Sandoval would lead to something out of her control -- like getting transferred. Admittedly, she hadn’t really thought about the ethics of sleeping with a colleague. Terry justified not thinking about it by telling herself that she _hadn’t_ slept with Sandoval so it wasn’t a problem. 

Not yet. Not now. 

It felt all the more complicated knowing that what she felt for Sandoval was the least of her worries, considering that she had been unable to let go of Javier. 

“Do you love him?” 

“Do you love her?” 

Javier went quiet, the last of his cigarette crumbling underneath his tight grip. He didn’t need to ask Terry who she was talking about. 

When he finally said, “she’s important to me”, Terry didn’t know whether to feel relieved or not.

“He’s important to me, too.” 

This felt like another one of those things that Terry and Javier just _understood_ about each other. They didn’t need more words to express their feelings or the circumstances they found themselves in. It was a private realisation just to share between the two of them. 

Javier didn’t love Elisa and Terry didn’t love Sandoval, but that didn’t diminish how they felt about them. It didn’t diminish how Terry or Javier felt about _each other,_ either. It was an intricate game amongst four interconnected individuals, but with only two main players.

By realising her own feelings for Javier, Terry could recognise his. 

No fairytale had ever been structured around _ifs_ and _buts._ It was never a question of _if_ the princess and the prince would end up together; that ending was predetermined by fate. Despite the hurdles, challenges, and villains, they always found each other. 

Real life wasn’t a fairytale. 

Like that one New Years Eve, neither Terry or Javier were ready for more -- not with each other. Terry could understand because she could see that he found the same amount of safety, of respect, of _companionship_ in their relationship as it stood right now. 

Javier was also nowhere near ready to _talk_ \-- not anything beyond these half-spoken conversations they found themselves returning to time and time again. There was something weighing heavily on her partner: guilt, responsibility, _fear_...Terry didn’t quite know. 

When he was ready, she would be there to talk. But what they had, had always been enough. 

With these thoughts in mind, Terry reached over to grasp Javier’s hand. When she squeezed, he squeezed back, and they shared a small smile. 

_Will there ever be a time for us?_ _We’ll know when we get there_. 

She finished off the rest of her cigarette with her hand held in his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! A lot happened. I would love to know anything that you guys liked, maybe didn't like, what you found surprising, and what you think is going to happen next! I believe I hinted towards this in my last chapter (if I didn't outright say it) but Chapter 10 will bring us right into August 1989. If the date doesn't ring any bells, the name 'Luis Carlos Galan' might. Yikes! Brace yourselves. 
> 
> A random note: I don't write in American English normally (actually, who knows at this point) but writing 'Mom' made me feel weird. But also kind of cool. 
> 
> I was feeling so much better this week and so I really enjoyed writing this chapter. I think my tiredness last week was mostly due to current circumstances; I realised I've almost spent an entire year under different forms of lockdown and that hit me hard. I hope everyone is staying safe and taking care of themselves! Sending lots and lots of love. 
> 
> Also, if anyone is interested in connecting on Tumblr, I have set up a blog mostly to just cry over Narcos and how hot Pedro Pascal is. I'm completely open to getting asks or just being bombarded with good content so feel free to hit me up over there if you'd like to! The name is 'itssmashedavo' (original, I know). 
> 
> There aren't too many timeline/factual notes I want to put in but, seemingly to make up for the last few chapters, there are some Spanish-English translations below!
> 
> corazón = sweetheart  
> ¿Cómo estás? = how are you?  
> sicario = hitman, hired killer


	10. Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> August, 1989: Galan dies and Terry muses on grief. Sandoval features heavily. 
> 
> CW for this chapter: car accident, vomiting, metaphors related to drowning, some smut (ooo). 
> 
> *******
> 
> Hi! Happy Friday, folks. I am overwhelmed with the response to the last chapter! You're all probably sick of me saying this all the time but I am *so* grateful and happy that others are enjoying this fic. Whether you comment or give kudos or are literally just scrolling through, please know that I appreciate every single one of you for taking the time to read this story. 
> 
> Lots of love to you all!
> 
> Also, apologies for any spelling or grammar mistakes. I'm using an old laptop while my actual one goes under repairs so the system hasn't been updated in a while. As per usual, any faults are mine.

**August 1989  
** **Bogota, Colombia**

The accident was 10 years ago. 

Terry knew it was after June, because she'd just turned 18, but before August when she started her first semester of college. She didn’t remember if the accident was in mid-July or late June or early August.

Even if she couldn’t remember the exact date, she remembered what the aftermath looked like.

They’d obeyed all the road rules, stopped at all the signs, kept to the speed limit. The police called it _bad luck_. 

Seatbelts hadn’t really been a thing back then. But one thing was clear: when another driver t-boned their car, Terry’s seat belt had stopped her from shooting through the front windscreen. She’d escaped with nothing but a minor concussion, a cracked rib, and a bruise across her face that cleared up after a few days. 

The police had also mentioned something about her being _lucky_ that she was knocked unconscious because the crime scene had been carnage. _Less traumatic_ , they said. 

Nevertheless, Terry had woken up in that hospital to the sound of the heart monitor beeping and a sickening feeling in the pit of stomach that something was very, _very_ wrong. 

She had that same feeling now standing in front of Noonan’s office. Even outside, Terry could hear the muted conversations occurring amongst all the DEA agents called into the office for this late meeting.

When she stepped inside, she could see some agents sharing a pot of coffee while others snuck around half-full bottles of whisky. Terry spotted Robin in one corner, chatting with an intern, and her partners hiding away in another. 

Shoving herself in between bodies, Terry quickly made her way over to them. Although unable to light it inside the office, Javi was fiddling with a cigarette between his fingers; Steve was restlessly tapping his foot, hand clenched on his kneecap to aid in the movement. When they spotted her, Terry could see relief flash across both their faces

“Hey,” She greeted quickly, nudging in between them. “You have any idea what this is about?” 

“Nah,” Steve sighed out, looking tired. “Was about to get a decent night’s sleep before I got called in.” 

It’d been an emergency alert through the telephone lines, straight from the mouth of the Ambassador herself. Since there hadn’t been a need for it before, Terry had also been about to crawl into bed before she was shocked awake by the demand: _all DEA agents are required to attend. 9:30pm sharp._

“How’s Connie doing?”

“Good. Been telling her she should get in touch with you to hang out, I don’t know, go get some cocktails or something.” 

“Oh, yeah, definitely --” 

“What's this, a PTA meeting?” Javier interrupted, tossing the snapped cigarette away. Terry and Steve exchanged a look before both turning to their partner, arms crossed over. “Jesus, you guys are even starting to look like Stepford Wives.” 

“I thought the bored housewife look was kinda your thing.” 

Terry snorted at Steve’s comeback. “Lay off him, Miami Vice,” She bent sideways to avoid Steve’s elbow heading for her gut. “He probably had some more exciting plans compared to me and you heading to bed at 8 -- we’re _young_.” 

“Are you calling me old?” 

“You said it, not me.”

Javier shot an incredulous look at her while Steve just raised his hand for a high-five. 

As if aware of the derailing conversation happening amongst them, Noonan cleared her throat and the room went silent. Terry positioned herself to peer over Javier’s shoulder to watch the Ambassador, and she felt Steve lean against her back to also get a view. 

Her heart sank when she registered the unusual look on Noonan’s face. The Ambassador’s mouth was pulled taut and her eyebrows were furrowed; Noonan’s hands clutched a single piece of paper that looked something like a memo. 

Although she was unable to read at this distance, Terry pressed her chin against the back of Javier’s shoulder in a desperate effort to read the paper before the words were spoken aloud. Maybe she could brace herself if she _just knew_ \---

“At 8pm tonight, Luis Carlos Galan was assassinated in Soacha.” 

The world around Terry collapsed into white noise. 

She mustered the strength to keep her eyes open and hyper-focused on the movement of Noonan’s lips: _We are working with the Colombian National Police to determine who is behind this._

Terry could feel eyes on her: Javier, Steve, Robin, the entire _goddamn_ office. She was in charge of those political reports, she worked with Galan. He was _her_ responsibility. 

She didn’t even realise Steve was shaking her by the shoulder until he snapped his fingers by her face. “Terry?” He was still behind her, absorbing the reactive spasm of her body to the noise. His hand rested on her upper back. “Bennett?” 

She stayed still until Noonan had finished her address. 

When the Ambassador was done, Terry didn’t manage to say anything before rushing out the door, pushing past other agents with low whispers of _sorry_ , _excuse me_. 

On muscle memory alone, she sprinted into the nearest toilet before forcing herself onto her knees. Terry retched into the toilet bowl, heaving up the contents of her dinner. While she heaved, a loop of _why why why_ ran itself over and over again in her head. 

Terry knew that it wasn’t her fault. _Deep down_ , she knew that she didn’t pull the trigger. She could only blame this on the real culprits: the gunmen, Escobar and his whole _fucking_ cartel. 

But she had looked over the reports and saw the death threats. She had poured over intel, security plans, and escape routes with Sandoval. Soacha had been one of the many events that, despite not being there, Terry knew in and out. 

One voice drowned at the others in her head: _THIS WAS YOUR FUCKING FAULT_. 

The thought was so dark, so irrational -- and yet Terry clung to it. The words were simultaneously her life raft, keeping her afloat, and the very sea that was trying to drown her. It was like tumbling into a black hole wearing a harness that wasn’t attached to anything: a facade of safety. 

Terry tore herself apart.

Her throat burned as the acid sank into her tongue and cheeks and _everywhere else she could feel right now_. When her body couldn’t take any more beatings, Terry slumped against the side of the cubicle and pressed her face into her elbow. The skin quickly became wet with tears of frustration and distress. 

When someone rapped on the cubicle door, she managed to let out a hoarse, “go away”. But Terry couldn’t muster the strength to reach out and brace against it. Instead, she let the person on the other side swing the door open to look right down at her. 

She must have looked pathetic, curled into herself like this. Terry could feel the vomit drying on the edges of her mouth and the sweat beading on her hairline, her lower back, under her breasts. She didn’t want to look up and see her own shame reflected in the eyes of another. 

Her head sunk deep, past her shoulders -- the rest of her body starting to shake with adrenaline. In an effort to restrain herself, Terry counted to three and tightly shut her eyes, breathing through the numbers. 

Javier hooked a finger under her chin, pulling her face up to look at him. His eyes travelled across her face, and all Terry could see was _empathy_ in his gaze.

She was soon pressed against his chest as she heaved through deep sobs, the noise tearing through her chest cavity. Terry felt his hand carding through her bun, twisting the tie free to release the tension. His fingertips moved to press along her skull, massaging from the base of her neck to her temple. 

Terry felt like the mythological Prometheus. 

Prometheus, who was chained to the cliff by a god who sought to punish him. Prometheus, who was subjected to the torture of having his liver torn out and consumed every single day. Prometheus, who was unable to escape until a hero came for him.

But even that hero had been sent by the same god who chained him in the first place. Terry, like Prometheus, knew exactly who that God was. 

She wanted to tear Escobar apart.

Galan’s death was nothing short of devastating. Her anger felt like salt on the flayed-open wound that was her body and mind. 

She broke out of Javier’s hold to retch into the bowl again. She felt one of his hands grasp back her hair while the other ran soothing tracks up and down her spine. 

And as her body ached and convulsed, Terry knew that she needed Escobar to die. 

  
  


*******

The right time never came so Terry and Sandoval fell together in their grief.

Looking in the mirror, Terry inspected her all-black ensemble. It was easy to disassociate herself from the woman she saw in the mirror: _she looks tired_ , _she forgot to press that crease out._ _Who wears flats to a funeral?_

She saw Sandoval move to stand behind her before she felt his hands grab hold of her hips. It was almost comical, the way he had to fold himself in half to rest his chin on her shoulder. He was dressed not dissimilar to what he wore at work; the two of them looked like a coordinated pair. 

Gazing at their reflection, Terry couldn’t help but realise that the man in the mirror was more familiar to her than the man she’d found herself in bed with. 

Seeing Sandoval in the morning light stirred an odd feeling in her chest -- not quite guilt, not quite adoration. She’d woken up before him so Terry had taken the moment to drink him in and visually map out his body in a way she’d been unable to in the darkness. 

Robin had told her it was always difficult to transition from colleagues to something more. Terry was sure her thing with Sandoval was made all the more difficult by the fact that there was nothing romantic about fucking in the midst of chaos. 

She’d had a niggling thought in the back of head when they’d been in the middle of the act: hands interlocked, Sandoval’s cock pounding into her. Terry had come at the same time she found the right word for her feelings: _desperation._

Not desperate for each other but for _someone_ to tide them over the wave of grief that crashed into them both. It was the both of them reaching out to grab onto someone who was also drowning, so that at least they could go together. 

It wasn’t romantic -- not even close. 

Yet, knowing this, she still lowered her hands to rest them over his. Terry saw the small uptick at the corner of his lips at her action, and she returned the favour by bringing one of his hands up to her mouth so she could press a fleeting kiss on the knuckles. 

“You said Galan’s son would be nominating Gaviria today.” 

Terry barely caught the flicker of frustration before his expression smoothed out, back to the man she knew. “I expect this works for you.” 

It wasn't a question.

Galan’s death had thrown a wrench in federal-approved plans to secure him as President. Although he was an excellent successor, Gaviria’s conservativeness had been brought up as a potential issue. But Terry had hope, and had written in her preliminary report to that effect: 

_Cesar Gaviria lacks the current leadership skills to make an active stance against the US government. Subsequently, I see no reason to suggest that Gaviria will not be in a position to become our most important political asset in Colombia. I would advise providing Gaviria with the appropriate incentives to secure his support of American federal policies regarding Colombian drug traffickers. Specifically, our primary goal prior to the election should be to secure an explicit denouncement of the Medellin cartel and Pablo Escobar. This includes explicit support of the removal of said terrorists into the custody of the United States government._

But her musing could wait until later. 

Terry wasn’t blind to the fact that her bringing up work had put a sour look on Sandoval’s face. She turned around slowly to face away from the mirror, dragging herself away from the comforting reflection of colleagues. 

She reached up to bring Sandoval closer to her, and he allowed her to, pressing his forehead against hers. “Perdóname, Eduardo.”

Terry hated how hollow her apology felt; it was hard to apologise for something that came so _naturally_ to her. Sandoval, despite his closeness, was part of her job. She wasn’t going to this funeral as a friend or a lover -- she was going as a representative of the DEA.

The two of them were already hesitant to talk about the repercussions of Gaviria’s nomination. 

With the violence having now escalated to a new level, Terry was likely to shift away from the campaign process. She didn’t have the same time, or breathing space, to nurture Gaviria as she had done so for Galan. For Sandoval, Terry knew that the Vice Minister of Justice position was his for the taking. 

It was one thing to fuck an outside contact. Javier did it al the time with little to no repercussions, other than the occasional reprimand to handle government funds better. But it was another thing entirely to have a government agent sleeping with a member of a foreign political cabinet. 

Too many eyes were on her because of Galan’s assassination. She didn’t need her relationship with Sandoval to become another thing her colleagues would whisper about behind her back. Her father’s old advice reared its head: _some people are only meant to be in your life for brief moments, and that’s okay._

But, for the first time, Terry was unwilling to let Sandoval go. When he leaned down to kiss her, Terry held on tight to the moment. 

She was standing at the back of the crowd when Sandoval lifted Gaviria’s fist in the air. 

Terry took note of Gaviria’s face, tight with the agony of losing a friend but constrained by the stoicism that he was known for. Her eyes shifted to Sandoval, who looked defiant. 

_It would’ve been better to cut the moment short_ , she thought. 

*******

When she was alone in her apartment, Terry would spend her evenings sitting in the middle of her bed and staring at the wall straight ahead. For the last four years, the wall had remained blank. She had always associated hanging up images with the idea of permanency. 

But four years was a long time to cling to the idea that her posting would be over soon. In light of recent events, Terry knew it would be much longer before Colombia was finished with her. 

So, she started hanging photos up on the wall. 

Most were from her childhood. Sprawling American landscapes, vacations, a snap of her parents sitting in their home office which 11-year-old Terry had scribbled on the back: _why are they always working together? Gross._

Her favourite photo was also the one that made her the saddest. Her parents' arms were wrapped around her, a sign held in Terry’s hands reading, “1979 High School Graduate!” On the back of that photo, her Mom had left a signed note: _¡Felicidades hija! Estoy tan orgulloso de ti. Siempre estás en mi corazón, Teresa. Mamá y papá te quieren._

Up until she'd unpacked that photo, Terry hadn’t known of the notes' existence. She’d spent the weekend holed up in the bedroom, sobbing into her hands. 

But there were other memories on the wall that were more recent and less bittersweet. 

There was a photo taken on New Years Eve in 1984, Connie and Terry pressed together into the frame and looking happy. Terry had such a wide grin across her face that, looking at it now, was almost terrifying in the amount of joy she exuded. 

There was another photo taken in the office breakroom. Terry couldn’t remember the name of the guy who took it but she’d made sure to grab a copy off him. It showed her and Robin, huddled next to the sink -- Robin’s head was thrown back in glee and Terry was smothering her own laugh with a hand across her mouth. It was a true image of friendship captured in the most ordinary of circumstances. 

The last frame she’d put up was one that Robin had taken. It was an image of Terry, Steve, and Javi all sitting in their office. Steve was pointing a finger at the camera, mouth half open in a shout. Terry was leant back in her seat, feet kicked up on the desk, eyebrow raised. 

Javier was looking right at her. 

So, the formerly blank wall came to fruition as an exhibition of treasured memories. 

  
  


********

Despite her reservations, it became easy to go to Sandoval when Terry felt like she was being suffocated. 

He was good to talk to. He listened well and provided counsel, even if she wasn’t able to give him the details. When Terry brought up that she was sad, Sandoval shared her pain as his own. When he wasn’t able to help her through talking, Terry lost herself in his body. 

He spent hours between her legs, licking through her folds and nosing at her clit until she came (once, twice, _three times_ ) -- making sure that she was satisfied before chasing his own relief. Terry liked hearing the slick noises of his cock, overwhelming in its size, move in a heady rhythm in and out of her body. 

The low _moans_ that escaped Sandoval when she buried her face into his neck, biting on the corded flesh, always spurred her on. Terry often found herself on top, gazing down, fingertips tracing the beginnings of bruises along his collarbone. His hands would grip her hips in a rocking motion to meet the rise and fall of his own, fingers fanned out at her waist to reach for her most sensitive spot. 

She would always spare a moment to watch Sandoval throw his head back into the pillow with a high _keen_ of her name, before leaning into his chest as she trembled through her own release. It always felt overwhelming in those moments, to truly let herself become untethered from the world around her as she chased euphoria. 

Terry always let herself lay there afterwards -- just him and her intertwined in his sheets and palms pressed together. She took comfort in those moments when their bodies were slick with sweat, hearts pounding. It felt like the perfect moments to share secrets between them. 

_I never thought I’d see so many of my friends die_ , he told her. _I don’t want to forget this feeling_. 

She didn’t have the heart to say that the pain would never leave. Devastating grief would eventually dwindle into just a sting compared to what it once was. It would be subsumed by other things, but it would never, _ever_ completely disappear. 

Grief started in the heart but it would outgrow that spot. Its tendrils would spread along the lungs and the spine and the mind, with no possibility for removal. Grief was treatable but impossible to cure. Sometimes, it would return back in full force just as a reminder that it’s _there_. 

So, instead of saying anything, Terry would press kisses down his body until Sandoval was unable to focus on anything other than her mouth on his cock. 

If she could provide a momentary escape, that was enough.

But the key word was _momentary._ The come down was inevitable and Terry would never stay much longer before rolling out of bed. 

There was nothing in his apartment that could be linked to her: no leftover clothes, or shoes, or a toothbrush on the bathroom counter. When she left, the only thing left of Terry was the imprint of her body in Sandoval's sheets. Even then, those grooves and rumples would smooth out in the night so that Sandoval always woke up thinking it’d been a dream. 

Sandoval would never be a part of Terry’s bedroom wall of treasured memories. 

She would lie in her own bed and trace her body in memory of his touch. She'd whisper along the grips and marks, savouring the soreness and fatigue because it was the only evidence she had of their relationship. 

Always, in the back of her mind, Terry was aware that something was wrong. That there was something _not right_ about her and Sandoval choosing _now._ Now, in the midst of a grieving process that was so familiar and yet so alien in its details. 

But, still, she clung on. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we have it: finally closing up the arc with Galan.
> 
> Also, the first bit of smut for this fic! I haven't written any smut before (ok, haven't *published* any smut) so it still feels a little stiff to me. I want to work on it so that by the time we get to some other juicy parts, it'll be satisfying. But I hope you still enjoyed that little bit in there for what it is. 
> 
> Grief and sadness and death are tricky to describe -- and Terry and Sandoval are in the thick of it. I wanted to get at how one event can bring up other memories, so I liked having this opportunity to explore more of what happened to Terry's parents. Also, that two people can love each other but use each other destructively. 
> 
> The flow of this chapter felt different to the others because of all these moving parts and I hope you all liked going on that journey with me. 
> 
> Some fun (maybe the wrong word in this context) facts:
> 
> 1) Terry and her family were based in New Haven, Connecticut. From what I could find, seatbelt laws for the state were only introduced in 1986. I find it interesting that you're not required to wear a seatbelt if you're in a rear passenger seat and over the age of 16. 
> 
> 2) PTA stands for Parent-Teacher Association! This was a big part of all the schools I went to. It was essentially an organisation of parents and staff to get the parents more involved in the school. From my experience, PTAs are very cliquey and often fall into a lot of petty behaviour. 
> 
> Stepford Wives is taken from the title of the book and the subsequent film adaptations. SPOILER but these seemingly perfect, subservient wives were actually robots. 
> 
> 3) In Greek mythology, Prometheus was punished by Zeus for returning fire back to mankind. The hiding of fire had been a punishment by Zeus in itself. Earlier, Prometheus had tricked Zeus to pick bones (rather than the meat) in the debate of how animal sacrifices should be distributed between man and gods.
> 
> So, Zeus chained Prometheus to a cliff/mountain where an eagle would come by and eat Prometheus' liver every day. Because he was immortal, it would grow back. Some interpretations of the myth say that Zeus allowed Hercules to slay the eagle and free Prometheus. Other versions agree that the eagle was killed but Prometheus was left chained. 
> 
> Anyways, some Spanish-English translations for this chapter! Google Translate and random dictionaries I have are my source material so apologies if there's any mistranslations/mistakes. 
> 
> Perdóname = I'm sorry/forgive me
> 
> ¡Felicidades hija! Estoy tan orgulloso de ti. Siempre estás en mi corazón, Teresa. Mamá y papá te quieren  
> = Congratulations daughter! I'm so proud of you. You are always in my heart, Teresa. Mama and Dad loves you.


	11. Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Javier goes off to find Gacha, leaving Terry to deal with both Steve and Sandoval. 
> 
> ********
> 
> Lots of love to all my readers. I can't believe that we've passed both the Chapter 10 mark and had over a 1000 hits on this story (absolutely insane!!) A special round of thanks to those who have reached out both here or on Tumblr -- your kindness makes my day! Hope everyone is doing well :)

**Late 1989  
** **Bogota, Colombia**

  
“So, when were you going to mention you’re fucking Eduardo Sandoval?” Steve had a knack for catching Terry off-guard at the worst moments. 

She’d been crouched under her desk, trying to find a missing paperclip. In response to his question, Terry’s body had jerked so wildly that the top of her head smacked against the metal underside. “ _Shit!_ ”

“Wait, sorry -- _future_ _Vice Minister of Justice_ Eduardo Sandoval. That ring a bell?” 

When Terry crawled her way back from the floor, rubbing the sore spot on her skull, she was met with a look that she personally called Steve’s _I’m-enjoying-watching-you-suffer_ face. 

Already knowing how this conversation was going to end, Terry could feel the defeat seeping in. Still, she attempted to hold her ground: “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“The guy was practically frothing at the mouth to ask about you when I went to the campaign HQ the other day.” Leaning back in his chair, arms pressed behind his head, Steve was the epitome of easy-breezy.

“That’s ridiculous,” Terry paused. “Eduardo’s too reserved for that.” 

“Eduardo _!_ Javi, did you hear her?” Steve had a shit-eating grin on his face and she desperately wanted to make her way over to him if only to smack it right off. But the room was still spinning. “Fucking _Eddy_.” 

“Yeah, man, I heard her.” 

“Isn’t he a bit square for you? Like the guy was on my ass about the fucking caddy we offered to Gaviria. And you know what I said? I said I’d be fucking _grateful_ if someone offered me a brand new car.” 

Terry didn’t think now was a good time to say that she’d already heard this whole saga from Sandoval himself. “He’s just stressed out.” That was the god-honest truth. 

She and Sandoval had barely managed to find time for themselves in the midst of the campaign and the upscale in violence instigated by both the cartel and the police. Terry had barely managed to get in a few hours with him last night and, after fucking her into the bed, Sandoval spent the rest of the evening complaining about Steve. 

Terry hadn’t minded because it was kind of funny getting both sides of the story. Her partner called Sandoval ‘square’ while the latter had called Steve something along the lines of _hijueputa_. However, all complaints were personal and never touched on the _actual_ work being done. 

As the boundaries blurred between their personal and professional lives, both Terry and Sandoval had promised not to talk about the details. It wasn’t a foolproof promise and things tended to slip out, but it was the principle that mattered. Terry hated the idea that Sandoval would use her for information, taking advantage of their relationship. Terry also hated the idea that Sandoval thought she might do that to him. 

“I’m sure you’re getting _plenty_ of stress relief. ‘Bout damn time --” 

Before Terry could make her way over to Steve, Javier had already done the job. He put pressure on the back of Steve’s chair so that the blonde flailed about for a few moments, trying to find his balance. 

She shot Javier a grateful look, to which he only responded by giving her a mocking salute from his eyebrow. 

“That’s what you get, _pendejo_ ,” She threw herself back into her desk chair, making sure to halt herself before the back of her head smacked into the wall. “Stop gossiping about my love life.” 

“ _Oh_ ,” Steve ignored her request. “So it’s your _love life_ , is it?” 

She threw a pen at him and didn’t feel bad when it hit Steve right between the eyes. 

  
  


*******

  
  


Terry sat on the edge of the bed, watching Javier shuffle through his belongings to stuff them into a travel bag. He was flying out to meet Carrillo in Cartagena tomorrow morning, and Terry had more or less invited herself into his apartment to see him before he left. 

It felt domestic, watching him like this. 

He moved around her so easily, with so much familiarity, that it was almost like Terry was a natural fixture of the apartment. There was an acknowledgement of _her_ in his space -- an implicit recognition of her physical presence in his life. 

That didn’t exist with Sandoval. 

“You’d tell me if you needed me, right?” 

“Yeah, I know,” Javier spared her a look before crouching down to shove more shirts into his luggage.

Terry spotted him rolling his eyes when she asked him to _pack the white shirt_. Then again, he wasn’t that annoyed considering he shoved the white shirt into his bag. “Carrillo isn’t keen on having more DEA agents hanging around right now.” 

Terry was _pretty sure_ that the Colonel liked her. She’d realised that when Carrillo sat down with her the last time they saw one another to say that he was sorry about Galan. But liking her wasn’t the same as trusting her, and he was still a bit _so-so_ on the trust thing. 

As much as she wanted to join in on the action and score a win for herself, Terry’s number one priority wasn’t Gacha. In fact, Noonan had explicitly told her a few days ago that Terry wasn’t, _under no circumstances_ , going to go to Cartagena. And she was fine with that, for the most part. 

The only thing that unsettled her was _where_ the information came from. Navegante scared the shit out of Terry because she couldn’t figure out _why_ he’d handed over Gacha’s whereabouts. The obvious answer was that Navegante hated Gacha’s gut, which in itself wasn’t unusual. 

Terry couldn’t help but think there was just something _off_ about the entire thing. 

“Besides,” Javier continued. “I thought you had a new CI to work?” 

Terry sat up straighter. “I gotta get rid of Martinez first before even considering a new informant. Can’t say I’m an expert handler,” She shot him a wry smile. 

Martinez was falling through the cracks. 

While her partners were aware that the relationship with her CI was going sour, Terry hadn’t outright told them she hadn’t been able to get into contact with him since _before_ Galan’s death. 

Martinez had been the first person she’d tried to find after the assassination. After all, he’d given Terry a very stark warning about the danger her colleague was in. At first, she thought it was good riddance that Martinez hadn’t picked up the phone. Terry was _angry_ and wanted to shove him around more than talk to him. 

Weeks later, he still wasn’t answering her calls. But he wasn’t dead because Steve had tossed a photo at her a few days ago showing Poison, an unnamed arrival, and Martinez at the airport Terry was able to give him a tentative ID because of Martinez’s Virgin Mary tattoo, so clearly captured in surveillance. 

Terry wasn’t up to sharing her concerns until she knew more. 

“Anyways, don’t worry about me,” She muttered down at her nails. “Just watch your back out there. I don’t need --” _I don’t need someone else turning up dead,_ was her unspoken thought. 

The mattress sank underneath the weight of them both as Javier took a seat beside her. She didn’t look up until his finger hooked under her chin to pull her face up to his. 

“You’ve got friends in high places now,” His eyes flickered down to her lips before he released her. “You’ll be fine.” 

Terry’s heart stuttered. “I’m not the one cozying up with a known _employee_ of the cartel.” 

The emphasis was unnecessary considering it was obvious Navegante did some _cleaning up_ for Gacha as part of his security role. 

“I don’t care what he’s doing this for,” Javier’s tone shifted. “This is the break we fucking need. Taking down Gacha is our first step to bringing Escobar to justice.” 

He was too close to her and so Terry shuffled back, creating distance between them. But her hand still rested in between them and Javier grasped onto it, stopping her from moving further away. “Don’t you get that?” 

“What kind of question is that?” Terry squeezed his hand in hers. “It’s just...I don’t think we’re getting the whole picture.” 

There was more than one piece missing from the puzzle. 

Navegante, the unknown man at the airport, Martinez. They were all connected -- she just didn’t know how. As time went on, Terry became more convinced that the cartel’s insidious spider web entrapped every single living being in Colombia. 

While it’d been there before, Galan’s assassination only created space for _paranoia_ to grow inside her. There was a constant fear residing in the back of her mind that she’d miss something -- that _next time_ , it’d be her fault when someone turned up dead. 

Terry couldn’t blame Carrillo for his lack of trust, considering that she could count the number of people she trusted on both hands. But even that number was slowly making its way down to just a single appendage. 

“I don’t have time to get caught up in the big picture.” He dropped her hand to stand back up again, and Terry simply watched as Javier placed his hands on his hips, looking anywhere but at her. 

He was so beautiful -- _so beautiful_ that she was worried the world would take him from her, too. 

Terry stood up from the bed and mimicked his earlier action: finger under his chin, pulling it around to face her. She even nudged his head down to make sure he was looking right at her. 

“Just tell me if you need me.”

He briefly touched his forehead to her own. “Trust me, Terry -- you’d know.” 

*******

It was like the start of a bad joke: two DEA agents, two Colombian politicians, and a US Ambassador all walk into a bar. Except the bar was the Ambassador’s office and, when Sandoval wasn’t speaking, Terry made sure she was avoiding all eye contact with him. 

Instead, she made sure to focus fully on Steve as he presented his concerns to Gaviria. The other day, Terry had been able to confirm her ID of Martinez while Steve had learnt the name of the stranger.

Turns out, that stranger went by the name of The Spaniard and was a known member of ETA, a separatist group based in the Basque Country. This was bad news because ETA was known for car bombs and The Spaniard was instrumental in building those bombs.

Terry didn’t put it past Escobar to hire an expert to kill Gaviria off. So, it wasn’t good that this guy was spotted in Colombia right around the time Gaviria became a top-priority target for the Medellin cartel. 

There was no _hard_ evidence, per say, that a bomb was in fact being built. But it wasn’t right to dismiss this circumstantial evidence either -- it was all _too much_ of a coincidence. 

Although, with respect to how Sandoval was acting, it was like this information wasn’t important enough to consider a change in action. “How do you expect him to win the election if he hides like a scared rabbit behind all this violence?” 

Sandoval was clearly agitated but Terry couldn’t believe the words that were coming out his mouth. There was _no way_ he misunderstood the gravity of The Spaniard being spotted in Colombia. The only conclusion Terry could draw from this conversation thus far was that Sandoval was choosing to ignore this intel and be deliberately _obtuse_. 

“How do you expect him to win if he’s dead?” Steve’s snappy response did him no favours with regards to Sandoval, who looked close to simply walking out the room and dragging Gaviria along with him. 

Sparing a glance at the Ambassador, Terry realised she wasn’t the only one not enjoying the dick measuring contest in front of her. Sitting in a room with the two of them, Terry realised that it was no surprise both of them complained about the other so much. 

_Now might be a good time to do some damage control_ , she thought.

“I think it’s important to disclose here that a long-term informant of mine, under the name Dinero, was identified in the images showing The Spaniard. It’s my belief that, once I’m able to get into contact with my informant, I’ll be able to verify my partner’s claims.” 

Sandoval liked to poke holes in people’s arguments, and she was no exception.

“But how will he be able to prove these _claims_ in the mean-time without your informant, Agent Bennett?” 

It felt weird to hear him refer to her so formally. 

“You don’t know Agent Murphy but you’ve worked alongside me, Sandoval -- Gaviria,” Terry turned to the other man. If he could see her genuineness, maybe it’d work in her favour like it had the first time they met. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t believe Agent Murphy had serious cause for concern regarding your wellbeing.” 

She couldn’t exactly say that Steve had partway been able to confirm his initial suspicions because he pointed a gun at an informant and then _kind of_ blackmailed the CIA. That story was a bit too messy and would only make Sandoval’s hackles _rise_. 

Sandoval was too by-the-book to ever understand the grey area that Terry and her partners operated in. He didn’t like Steve because he thought the American was arrogant; he didn’t like Javier because he was _sospechoso_.

She’d asked Sandoval, once, what his first impression of her had been. He’d laughed and told her: “ _very American_ ". His response only made Terry press more: _what_ made her so American? 

Sandoval said it was how she walked right into that meeting room like she belonged there. “ _I thought you were arrogant until I saw your hands shake -- then I knew I could work with you_.” 

Terry belonged here. So, she continued. “I would advise you to acknowledge my partner’s intel by adjusting your campaign plans. Your life ---” 

“Except you are no longer advising me on this campaign, Agent Bennett. While your experience and trust in your partner is commendable, Eduardo’s right -- I’ll take my chances.”

Just like that, the conversation was over.

Terry suppressed the feeling of defeat and acknowledged their guests with a small nod; Steve knocked back the rest of his drink with an attitude of _whatever_. Judging by the Ambassador’s expression, Noonan wasn’t happy with either of them.

The Ambassador said so as much when it was just her, Terry, and Steve left in the office. 

“I thought that you, Bennett, would’ve put up more of a fight.” 

_I can’t fucking change their minds if they don’t want to_ , Terry wanted to scream. 

“Ma’am, Bennett did what she could with the information she had. It’s not her fault Gaviria and Sandoval are being fucking idiots.” 

“I don’t appreciate your tone, Murphy. It’s my understanding that the informant Agent Bennett was speaking about has somehow _disappeared_ off the grid.” Noonan’s words were cutting, and all Terry could do do was stand there and take it. “Bennett, you cannot let this man slip out between your fingers.” 

She swallowed. “No, Ambassador.” 

Terry ignored the sympathetic look that Steve shot her. 

She was still thinking over Noonan’s words when she got a call sometime after 11pm.

For a few moments, all she hears is someone breathing on the other end. Before Terry can ask who it is, the man speaks: “We got him.”

Javier’s voice is a relief. “Jesus, I thought you were a fucking creep or something trying to get off on my voice.” A hand rubs its way across her face and down her neck, coming to rest on her clavicle. Terry runs a fingertip over the bone and feels the comforting flutter of her heartbeat. 

“What, that something you and Sandoval into?” 

“ _Canalla_!” Despite the insult, he laughs. “Gacha...?” 

“Dead.” 

Javier had been right when he said this was going to be a big break for them, and the reality of it is only just starting to hit her. Terry leant back against her pillow, mind reeling.

After her earlier failure, Terry took the moment to just _revel_ in the success, in the _glory,_ of Javier’s effort against Gacha. “You motherfucker.” 

Her laugh is almost breathless in its relief, its _shock_ at the audacity of her partner to complete such a Herculean task. Escobar was going to be on the run for the rest of his life because the DEA only needed to get lucky once.

 _Fucking good riddance_ , Terry thought. _One down, just a few more to go._

“I wish you were here.” 

His admittance comes out of nowhere, and Terry is so surprised that her laughter immediately cuts off. She wishes she could see him because at least, then, she’d be able to read _something_ on his face. A hint of something desperate seeps through his voice and Terry is scared of it. 

Javier is silent, sitting on the other end, until he seems to find his words. 

“Carrillo doesn’t want to drink with me -- at least you’d get me a bottle of whiskey to celebrate.” 

Relief surges through her so fast that Terry doesn’t even take notice of the underlying disappointment, residing deep in her chest, with the realisation that Javier wasn’t being completely honest with her.   
  
  


********

  
Martinez picks up after the second dial tone: “Don’t fucking call me again, Teresa.” 

Before he cuts the call, Terry manages to hear him call out for someone named Jaime. 

*******

All she could see was _black_ , only _just_ able to distinguish the shape of the house from the rest of the surroundings. Sandoval’s home stood there, imposing, mocking her. 

She hadn’t been able to follow Steve to the airport: _I’ll stop him_ , he said. 

Terry trusted him enough to believe him. Still, she hadn’t been able to stop running through the worst case scenario: that Sandoval and Gaviria had gotten onto that flight despite Steve’s warnings. More fuel was added to those terrifying thoughts when Terry heard that the plane blew up before she got word from Steve that Sandoval and Gaviria were safe. 

No one else was in the office to witness her reaction when the news had been shared on the radio. Her nails had dug into her palms so fiercely that they drew blood, and the scarlet liquid had run down her wrists.

Her pager went off as she was wiping her desk clean: _He’s safe_. 

Terry waited for three hours, hunched over in her chair, before making her way to Sandoval’s. And then, she was too afraid to exit the car. 

_I can’t fucking do this again_. 

Sandoval looked tired when he opened the door but Terry also saw the spark of relief in his eyes when he saw it was her. They had developed the habit of entering the home before speaking -- so it was the sound of the door clicking shut that broke her from her stupor. 

“You could’ve died tonight.” 

She shoved Sandoval in the chest and he moved back more in shock than because of any actual power behind the movement. Terry kept powering forward, each step correlating to another forceful push of her hands. 

“You could’ve died tonight and I wouldn’t have even been able to fucking _mourn you!_ ” 

Terry stopped when she saw her own pain reflected in Sandoval. 

The only long-term physical evidence of their relationship were their bodies: intact, _alive_. If Sandoval died, Terry would’ve had nothing of him besides intangible memories. No photos, no leftover clothes -- _nothing_. 

He was the only person in life that would be like that for her. With everyone else she held dear, no matter how painful it would be to lose them, at least she had something to keep of them. 

With Sandoval, Terry simultaneously had everything and nothing. If he died, their personal relationship wouldn’t even be a _footnote_ in Sandoval’s life. There would be no leeway for Terry to take time off or to find solace in the aftermath of his death. 

Sandoval gathered Terry up in his arms and pressed her close to him, moulding her body into the shape of his own. She didn’t realise that both of them were crying until Terry wondered why his shirt and her hair were becoming so damp. 

He was muttering apologies into her hair and she into his chest. 

When Sandoval pressed inside her, Terry surged along with him -- arms and legs wrapped tightly around his body. They were still mumbling apologies to each other, lips moving aimlessly along bare skin. She found herself babbling into his neck, all sorts of things spoken. 

Sandoval leaned away to sit up on his knees, shifting Terry onto her front. At this angle, she saw stars behind her eyes when Sandoval slammed back into her, his hands clutching at her waist to keep her tight against him. His entire front was pressed against her back when he licked up behind her ear, whispering his returned affections: _mi amor._

She repeated back the words to him, barely audible; she sobbed into the pillow when she came. 

Terry didn’t leave until the sun rose. 

  
  


*******  
  


“Have you seen this man? Did he come talk to Jaime?” 

She squeezes next to Carrillo to hold up a photograph of Martinez. The girl’s eyes flicker over the image before shooting back down to look at her baby, shoulders tense. Even when the girl responds _NO_ , Terry doesn’t miss the flicker of recognition. 

She sits back on her haunches to look back at Javier and Steve. 

_Fuck_. 

  
  


*******

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo hoo! Javier didn't feature much in this chapter, which wasn't my intention but just ended up happening. I initially wanted Terry to go along with Javier and Search Bloc but I thought I'd save some action for the next chapter! I think having Terry based in Bogota still makes more sense with the overall story. Also, Martinez is a big feature in this chapter, and his storyline will be coming to a head in the next chapter. If you guys remember the action of 1x7 then...where he and Terry end up meeting won't be a massive surprise! 
> 
> Anyways, I'm still gobsmacked that people read this and are getting so invested in this story. I hope that I'm still living up to your expectations and that you will continue to enjoy reading this! 
> 
> I want to also put here that I drank a very strong whisky sour (picked up making cocktails in quarantine) while editing this so all faults are mine. I'm definitely going to go back at some point to spruce up previous chapters!
> 
> On to some fun-not-so-fun facts:
> 
> 1) ETA stands for 'Euskadi Ta Askatasuna', which translate to 'Basque Country and Freedom'. It's a now-disbanded separatist group which advocates for a separate nation for the Basques ethnic group. I would be doing a disservice by trying to paraphrase the history of ETA and Basque nationalism. However, ETA was well-known for evolving into a paramilitary group that used bombs (amongst methods) to target and kill Spanish military and police officers, politicians, businessmen, and other individuals. 
> 
> 2) As a refresher, the 'Jaime' that Terry hears Martinez yell it is the same boy who ends up blowing up Avianca Flight 203. Every time I re-watch this episode, I am filled with the same amount of dread as when I first watched it. An adjacent fact is that La Quica was convicted for his involvement in the Avianca plane bomb (amongst other crimes) and is now serving 10 life sentences in the US. 
> 
> Spanish-English translations!  
> pendejo = Mexican slang for idiot, asshole; literal translation is 'pubic hair'  
> hijueputa = son of a bitch, bastard  
> sospechoso = suspect, shifty, sketchy  
> canalla! = scoundrel!


	12. Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1990 is a big year for Terry. 
> 
> *******
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has read, kudos-ed, and/or commented since I published the last chapter. It makes my day to see others enjoying this story and I'm so, so appreciative to those who have reached out (in whatever way) to let me know their thoughts & feelings! This chapter is a long one and it's just for you guys. 
> 
> I hope you are all doing well and are having a wonderful weekend. Lots of love from me to you !!

**1990  
** **Colombia**

Terry drummed her fingertips on the countertop in an erratic rhythm, unable to keep her hands still; she couldn’t stop thinking about Martinez. 

The Avianca plane disaster had overshadowed Gaviria’s swearing-in ceremony, and yet she still found herself making no progress in the investigation into the bombing. Steve called it having their hands tied by DEA bureaucracy.

Terry thought it was more like being shafted by the CIA and the military because they needed to have a scapegoat, and the DEA just happened to be their most convenient option. 

Noonan wanted confirmation on Martinez but Terry had nothing to offer except a disturbing phone call and a girl who _seemed_ to know Martinez. The girl, Natalie, was a person of interest because it was her boyfriend that blew up the plane.

If Terry found a way to confirm that the bomber was in touch with Martinez, she’d have more of a good reason to bring him in.

“I can’t sit here and be jealous of you drinking coffee if you don’t _actually_ drink the coffee.” 

Terry shook herself out of her musings, throwing an apologetic look at Robin. She took a sip of the drink before immediately spitting it back out, liquid dribbling down her chin. “ _Salt_.” 

“Ah, shit, not again!” Robin swiped the mug out of Terry’s hands before tossing it into the sink. “I still can’t believe that pregnancy brain is an actual thing.” 

“Maybe it wouldn’t be a thing if you didn’t put the salt and sugar in _identical containers_.” 

Despite the amount of bullshit happening around her, Terry took the time out to appreciate some of the good things that came out of it all. Like Robin, who’d just passed the six-month mark in her pregnancy. Even if she didn’t appreciate salt in her morning coffee, Terry liked being a part of these moments. 

“Shut up!” Robin shot back without any venom, coming back to sit on the barstool next to Terry. “My _back_ ,” She groaned, lowering herself down, and Terry immediately shot her hands out to steady her friend. “See, this is why you’re the godmother and not my sister.”

“Because I don’t shit on you for giving me crap coffee?” 

“Exactly!” 

Terry didn’t pretend to understand what she perceived as a highly dysfunctional relationship between Robin and her sister, who Terry didn’t even know the name of. She’d tried explaining it to Sandoval the other night and, while he’d nodded through her entire spiel, Terry was pretty sure it went through one ear and out the other. 

Regardless, Terry was happy she was going to be the godmother, even if she had no fucking clue what that would entail. Nobody had ever asked her to be a godmother and Terry’s godparents hadn’t been a big part of her life -- the concept was completely foreign. 

“I hope I never meet your sister.” 

“Me too!” Robin turned herself sideways and Terry grabbed onto her friend’s legs as they swung up to rest in her lap. “Anyways, before we get onto names, I want to talk to you about something.” 

Terry’s fingers started tapping on Robin’s ankle bone. “I already told you, Ariel is a cute name but everyone’s going to name their kid that.” Terry and Robin had gone to see ‘The Little Mermaid’ when it started showing in Bogota, and Robin had been obsessed with the name ‘Ariel’ ever since. 

“Okay, I’m going to ignore what you just said about Ariel. Anyways, I was going to ask you about your _man_.” 

Terry suddenly found her friend’s pedicure very interesting. 

As predicted, Sandoval had been sworn in as the new Vice Minister of Justice. 

They’d celebrated on their own, sharing a little cake between the two of them while sitting in bed. Terry had lit up the candles and forced him to blow them out, and then Sandoval kissed her with frosting-covered lips.

The next evening, Terry stood there at the presidential reception and pretended as if nothing happened. Sandoval shook her hand, complimented her on her dress, and walked away. 

“How’s it going?” Robin pushed, leaning forward. “I’m living vicariously through you.” 

“Do you mind if we don’t talk about it?” 

Terry immediately regretted her words because they made out the whole situation to seem a lot more dramatic than it was. It wasn’t as if Robin didn’t know the details but Terry hesitated to share her _most_ private thoughts. Like how she loved Sandoval but could see the proverbial iceberg on the horizon. 

But Robin could read Terry pretty well at this point. “Oh, Terry.” 

Terry hated the sadness that she could hear in Robin’s voice, and she swallowed the lump that suddenly appeared in her throat. She wasn’t close to crying but Terry felt a little suffocated under the weight of her current predicament. 

Robin was a good friend. “I’m thinking it’ll be a bigger _fuck-you_ to my sister if I name the baby ‘Ariel Teresa’. Karma won’t bite me in the ass, right?” 

Terry looked up and smiled at her friend. “What are you going to do if it’s a boy?” 

“It won’t be.” 

“I’m part of an office bet that it will be.” 

She scrambled from the seat as Robin lunged for her neck. 

  
  


*******  
  


In May, Robin gave birth to a baby weighing in at a whopping 10lbs. 

She named him Terrence.  
  


*******

“Your boyfriend is a piece of work,” Javier mumbled around his cigarette. 

Terry was starting to think that meetings between American federal employees and Colombian politicians had some kind of curse in place. 

Gaviria had been right to call them out with the statistics: _660 tons of cocaine_ consumed in the US last year, and yet here they were attempting to tackle the problem in Colombia rather than on their home turf. 

Still, the whole back-and-forth argument only gave Terry a headache. Worse, she couldn’t even do anything to stop the cart from rolling back down the hill. 

“ _Gaviria_ isn’t shaping out how we hoped he would,” She knew Javier brought up Sandoval because he wanted to be snarky. Terry wasn’t in the mood to get into it with him. “Sandoval’s only one piece of this fucked up jigsaw puzzle.” 

“Amen to that,” Steve knocked back his whisky before shoving the flask back into his jacket. 

The three of them sat in the car outside the embassy, none of them eager to go back into the office. It wasn’t even 3pm and Terry was just about ready to go drown herself in a bottle of tequila. The thought of regurgitating the alcohol tomorrow morning was more appealing than heading into the embassy at the moment. 

Evidently, her partners felt the same if both had been willing to hide out with her. 

“The CIA is such bullshit,” Steve continued. “Like they don’t have some goddamn planes in the sky keeping track of _non-official information_ on the side.”

“It’s called bureaucracy, Steve,” Terry tossed the cigarette stump out the window and clasped her hands together instead, fingernails scratching along dry knuckles. “Can’t forget that we’re part of that.” 

As much as the DEA proclaimed to be at the helm of the war on drugs, it was their own superiors that restricted any action towards resolving said war. Javier told Gaviria that he needed the additional resources, but what resources did they even have to give?

The Avianca bombing took the stick out of the US government’s ass. Said incident didn’t exactly scream ‘success’ when it came to justifying the American presence in Colombia. However, it was still a nightmare trying to claim extra funding for their intel -- especially because Gaviria now claimed he could do without it. 

Terry believed that Gaviria had the potential to be a good leader because, more often than not, he listened to sensible advice. Better yet, he _was_ a sensible person. But she was so sick and tired of playing games when it came to the narcos. 

Search Bloc was going on more raids and yet Escobar seemed to get ahead every single time. Every step forward was met by taking two steps back. In his effort to manage the cartel without using violent means, Gaviria was met with a doubled effort. 

And Terry couldn’t do fucking _jackshit_ about it. 

“We don’t have to put up with this.” 

At Javier’s words, both Terry and Steve refocused their attention on their partner. “Carrillo is interested in getting our help more. Not the DEA’s help -- _ours,_ if we’re willing to give it. Move on from just observing,” Javier looked at Steve before looking at her. 

Terry could see that he was also tired of losing: losing money, losing time, _wasting_ opportunities away. What Javier was suggesting was, if not exactly that, akin to treason. Considering that the three of them had crossed that line before, it didn’t feel like such a big deal. 

“What do you mean exactly?” Steve asked, mouth held in a tight line. 

“You said you were _all in._ When it comes to it, I need to know that you’re going to follow-through.”

Javier was deliberately being vague but his intention was clear. Boundaries were being blurred and they were officially only going to walk in the grey area. Nothing was off-limits if it could be explained: _the end justifies the means_.

Terry hated that saying because it was so easily manipulated. But she felt like her cause was good -- now unable to recognise her hypocrisy. So, Terry accepted the terms and threw herself into the deep end, with only Javier and Steve to keep her afloat.

Steve tossed her the flask, and Terry enjoyed the way the burn as the whiskey travelled down her throat. She passed it to Javier, who raised it to her and Steve. 

“A mis amigos.” To my friends. 

  
*******

  
She focused her intel efforts on Martinez. 

Terry didn’t feel comfortable going back to the comuna to speak to the girl, Natalie, for two key reasons. For one, Natalie had been reluctant to confirm that she’d spoken with or at least _seen_ her boyfriend with Martinez. 

The other contributing factor was that it was highly likely the cartel was watching Natalie. Federal agents turning up for the first round of questioning was standard -- but a second? A third? 

Terry was just working off a look and her gut instinct. She didn’t need the death of a young mother weighing down her conscience. 

Background checks were part of the deal in managing an informant. Looking over Martinez’s file, he wasn’t dissimilar to a lot of the young men who started in the lower ranks of the cartel. In many ways, his background was similar to the bomber’s: Medellin-local, poor, targeted early-on for more basic transport and smuggling activities. 

What distinguished Martinez, who found himself convincing pregnant women to smuggle cocaine into the US before working his way up to hang with Escobar’s top sicarios, from Jaime -- who the cartel got to blow up a _plane?_

Terry had the impression that the Avianca bomber was easier to manipulate: young, eager to prove himself and provide for his family. It seemed like a classic case of the cartel preying on someone who’d just follow orders without thinking the worst. 

She couldn’t say the same for Martinez but maybe the man benefited from having more time spent in the cartel in comparison to young Jaime. Martinez wasn’t smart but he was stubborn; he’d only gotten more arrogant, _angrier_ , with age. 

He didn’t have any family or friends outside the cartel, although Terry doubted the concept of friendship even existed in the cartel’s structure. Her relationship with Martinez was nothing like the ones that Javier had with his informants, where her partner exchanged information for protection. 

All Terry had to offer, and all Martinez seemingly wanted, was cash. 

Javier had told her that, eventually, even informants driven by greed got sick of the exchange. So, what was Martinez getting through his cartel connection: power and status? A perverse family unit? 

Terry couldn’t figure it out. 

A hand fell on her shoulder and she automatically leaned into the palm. Terry let out a soft exhale as Javier’s fingers started to press into the tense muscle. 

His shadow fell across her face as Javier shifted forward to peer at her work. She caught onto how his eyebrows furrowed when he saw it was Martinez’s file. “Still looking for him?” 

“I have no clue what I’m going to do with him.”

It was the first time she was admitting such a thought out loud.

Although Noonan believed otherwise, Terry was trying. 

But even Terry thought that _trying_ wasn’t good enough. Linking her missing informant to the bomber, and with Martinez’s alias popping up more frequently with Centra Spike, had put a bright red bullseye on her forehead reading FAILURE. 

First, Galan and now, Martinez. Two wildly different circumstances but _she_ was the common denominator. Was there something wrong with her professional handling? Was she doing everything wrong? What the _fuck_ was she doing here? 

As if aware of her spiral, Javier moved so he was sitting at the edge of her desk and facing her straight on. His hand remained where it was, still rubbing circles into the muscle and trying to get it to loosen.”You’ll figure it out.” 

“And if I don’t? Noonan looks about five seconds away from having me transferred.” 

Terry didn’t know for sure whether relocation was on the table. It was highly unlikely because the DEA needed more agents in Colombia now than ever before. But her meetings with Noonan recently had been laced with frustration on both ends: Terry and the Ambassador were starting to feel the pressure. 

It didn’t help that Noonan was also a rule stickler. If she even stepped a _toe_ over the line, Terry didn’t doubt the Ambassador wouldn’t hesitate to boot her out of the field -- _at the very least_. 

Terry couldn’t think of anything worse than not seeing Escobar dead right in front of her, having to sit on the sidelines and have others revel in what should be _her_ victory. 

“I don’t know why I said that,” She tried to backtrack, feeling ridiculous.

Sometimes, it felt like any display of emotion was an indication of immaturity. DEA agents didn’t cry or get sad: they got angry, frustrated -- _violence_ was even permissible.

Even in front of her closest friend, Terry didn’t want to show how she felt so _small_. But, despite his hard exterior and the incidences of their early years, Terry had stopped feeling like Javier would judge her for a bad day.

She leant into his hand when it moved up to cradle her face. 

“You’re a great agent. Noonan can’t get rid of you because you’ve done more to bring down the cartel than most, even if you don’t see that.” His gaze was reassuring, imparting to her the seriousness of his words. “I’d never let them take you away from me.” 

She couldn’t stop herself from tilting her head _just that little bit_ to press a kiss into his palm. She sighed into the calloused skin, kissing it a second time. 

All Terry could hear was their breathing: in sync, travelling in the small space between them. It always felt like they got back to this point in the time, somehow. 

His thumb pushed in at the corner of her mouth and Terry leaned up. He met her in the middle and pressed his forehead against hers, just holding her there. 

“I don’t know what I’d without you,” She spoke quietly. Over time, Terry learnt to embrace the intimacy she shared with him.

If there was a key to her life--to her very _being_ \--she didn’t doubt that Javier held it. 

Something _tilted_ when her hands travelled to rest under his jaw, fingers curling in the hair behind his ears. The soft _hiss_ that escaped from between his lips made her feel overwhelmed. 

Unsure what to do next, Terry removed her hands. She thought about Sandoval. 

She loved Sandoval: she _knew_ that and she _felt_ that. Terry had told Javier a long time ago that Sandoval was important to her, and he still was. 

There was something that _disconnected_ , inside, thinking about her relationship with Sandoval. It didn’t feel right to love and be with one man, and then to yearn for another. Javier and Sandoval existed in the same space simultaneously and yet couldn’t be further apart. 

Terry felt like she and Javier always found themselves sitting on the edge. The answer was right in front of her as to why she always felt that way when it came to Javier, almost ready to take that jump.

She knew a long time ago that she loved him. 

Terry saw a flash of defeat in Javier’s eyes and her heart seized. Instinctually, she reached for him. He pulled back before she could touch him, sliding off the desk and away from her.

And for all her musings on how childish she felt when she cried, Terry worked _hard_ to suppress the feeling of utter grief at his action. 

Terry couldn’t do this to Sandoval -- she _needed_ Javier to understand that. 

“Javier, I --” 

He cut her off, hands clenching before flexing out. “I don’t want to hear it.” 

She had no chance to redeem herself when Steve burst into the room, waving a memo sheet in their faces. It seemed so easy, then, for Javier to pull himself together, hand reaching into his pocket for his cigarette pack.

Terry truly loathed herself when she saw his fingertips trembling as they wrapped around the box. 

“I present to you: our fucking way back into the game,” Steve slapped the memo down on her desk and Terry quickly made a grab for it. Diana Turbay’s name was instantly recognisable -- she’d been at Gaviria’s presidential reception along with her father, the _ex-President_. 

“It’s business hours, baby!” Steve was oblivious to the tension between his two partners. “Let’s see if Gaviria can do without our extra resources now.” 

His glee was suffocating. 

*******

Time passed and Terry celebrated a year with Sandoval. They braved out a trip to a restaurant on the outskirts of Bogota, sharing a large serving of bandeja paisa. 

She was laughing around a mouthful of food when Sandoval’s pager went off. 

_Go back to the house_ , he said. _I’ll be right there_ , _I’m sorry._

The kidnappings had resulted in Terry and her partners getting back into helping out the CNP in an _officially observational capacity_. The kicker was that it wasn’t observational at all and Terry found herself handling her gun a lot more now. 

For Sandoval, the kidnappings had only put him and Gaviria under intense pressure. He described it as feeling like an insect under a microscope. But, instead of being dead, he was paralysed -- no escape from scrutiny or being pulled apart at the will of others.

She pulled him close for a quick kiss, whispering: _it’s okay. I’ll wait for you_. Terry revelled in the act of being able to show this affection in public and Sandoval felt the same. He smiled against her lips, returning the affection before pulling away. 

When she got to Sandoval’s home, it felt natural to strip out of her clothes in favour of getting comfortable. Terry rifled through his drawers, not paying attention to where her hands went or what they touched. 

The sound of her knuckles hitting a box was deafening _._

Terry got her limbs to function just long enough to open it. She froze, eyes going out of focus so that the object in question was merely a blur. 

When Sandoval came back, she pretended to be asleep, mumbling when he pressed a kiss to her forehead. He left to shower and Terry moved to lie flat on her back, staring at the ceiling. 

She stifled her sobs with the back of her hand. 

  
  


*******

Terry heard the gunshot before she rounded the corner. Not sparing a look at either of her partners, she rushed forward in time to take note of three distinct things. 

One, Natalie’s brains decorated the home. Terry saw blood covering what she could see of the floor, ceiling, and surrounding walls.

Two, the baby was crying. 

Three, Martinez was pointing a gun at the baby. 

He saw her movement in the window and shifted his gun to aim at her. Terry hit the ground right before his finger pressed down on the trigger, and the sound of shattered glass _rung_ through the air. The baby started crying harder. 

“Shit!” She exclaimed, seeing Martinez and the other men make a break for it. Terry didn’t wait around to hear her partners respond, focusing on chasing after Martinez. 

He might’ve put on a generous amount of muscle but it didn’t slow him down. Martinez weaved easily through crowds of people on the streets of Comuna Popular. 

A stitch spread along her side as Terry sprinted to catch up with him, slipping the gun into her holster and using both hands to shove the shoulders of passing individuals, unable to move fluidly through the crowd in comparison to Martinez. 

“STOP!” She yelled. It did nothing to deter Martinez, who seemed to head her words as permission to run _faster_. 

Terry was completely aware of the hold Escobar held over the comunas of Medellin, and she was under no pretence that she was the favoured person of this chase. She felt the eyes of the comuna’s residents boring into her body, seeping into her pores and under the muscle to light up her nervous system. 

She was only glad nobody thought to stop her in her path. 

Terry’s hands scraped raw along the walls as she desperately propelled herself forward, ankles collapsing as she fumbled forward. She got so close to Martinez at one point, fingers just brushing the edges of his hair before he swung himself up onto the roof of a random building. 

She scrambled up, hissing as her scrapes and bruises were cut by metal and grit. 

From this vantage, Medellin was a vision of disjointed buildings -- of all shapes and sizes and heights. The comunas spread out like a labyrinth, and Terry intermittently lost sight of Martinez behind roofs and clotheslines and steam. 

She kept running, pushing, chasing after those brief flashes.

Martinez abruptly stopped but didn’t turn around. She stopped a few metres behind him.

Looking over his shoulder, Terry could see the chasm spread in front of him that demarcated this rooftop from the next. If Martinez jumped and missed, he would be dead. If he didn’t jump, Terry would get him. She saw the glint of his gun and quickly drew her own, pointing it at his chest. Her finger rested on the side, not on the trigger. 

Terry didn’t want to shoot him if she didn’t have to. 

But she could see Martinez’s index finger trembling over the trigger, the gun aimed at her stomach. His eyes were moving erratically between herself, the chasm, and the sound of sirens in the distance. 

Terry licked her lips, her throat dry. “Luis, put the gun down.” 

“DON’T CALL ME THAT!” He shouted, and the gun shifted wildly to aim directly at her face. Terry resisted the urge to flinch even when her entire vision was taken up by the barrel of the gun. 

All those months ago, she was so certain that he was incapable of pulling the trigger. Now, she wasn’t quite so sure. 

“ _Dinero_ ,” Terry tried again, and she could see the marked difference in how he responded to his alias. His spine straightened, his shoulders pulled back, and Terry could finally see the man he was becoming.

“Killing me isn’t going to help you. What do you need -- a visa? Protection?” Despite the _hours_ she spent pouring over his files, she still didn’t know what he wanted. 

Terry felt like she was grasping at straws. He hadn’t shot her yet which had to mean something. Did he _want_ to be caught? Was he trying to tell her something?

Did he need a way to get out? 

“What did they give you? Status? Gold? A few nice toys?” The words were tumbling out of her mouth, and her tongue felt heavy. 

Sweat ran down her face and her eyes watered at the sensation. But she was too scared to blink in case Martinez took it as his opportunity to fire. 

“I don’t want anything from you,” Martinez spat. “You have given me _nothing_ and they have given me _everything_!” 

“Grow the fuck up, Martinez.” It was a poor move to agitate him but Terry was losing her grasp of the situation, desperate to prolong their conversation. If she held out, she could get through to him. “Don’t you see? They will toss you to the side when it’s convenient, like that kid -- Jaime.” 

Martinez froze at the name and so she pushed forward. “You are _nothing_ to them. I can help you if you let me.” 

A shot rang out and Terry fell sideways, curling into a fetal position. 

The noise in her eardrums was _piercing_ ; her hands automatically shot up to clutch at her ears. She stayed there, on the ground, unable to focus on anything other than the pain. Blood poured out the wound on her shoulder, soaking her clothes. 

Terry could hear the muffled noise of Martinez swearing, and she cracked her eyes open to watch. He had abandoned the gun on the ground and had stumbled back away from her body. 

Their eyes connected and all she could see was _fear_. 

“Martinez.” Her voice sounded muffled like she was speaking underwater. Terry was aware that her mouth was moving but it didn’t feel like the words were forming right. 

Hearing her speak, he seemed to shake himself from his stupor and moved back a few more steps. He still didn’t take his eyes off her. His lips moved and she tried to read them, only managing to catch the end: _siento_. 

Martinez turned and leapt off the roof, landing awkwardly on the other side. He didn’t look back even when Terry shouted after him: _MARTINEZ!_

When he disappeared from her sight, Terry realised she needed to get back to her partners. 

She screamed, gasping when she stood up -- the weight of her arm pulling apart at the bullet wound. Terry ripped the fabric of her t-shirt and mustered the strength to wrap it tightly over the hole, biting down on her tongue when cotton met exposed flesh. 

Terry didn’t take notice that this time around, the residents parted like the biblical Red Sea. She stumbled her way back through the comuna, thinking of the _relief_ she would feel when back where she belonged. 

Her shoulder and hands went numb, and the sweat running along her body was of a very different kind than the exertion from chasing after Martinez. The edges of her vision oscillated back and forth between dark and light. 

Steve spotted her first. “Oh _shit_. Javi --- JAVI!?” 

Terry couldn’t see out of her peripheral vision but, all of the sudden, Javier was in front of her. 

Frantic hands moved over her face, eyes darting down to the blood-soaked fabric around her shoulder. “He got away,” She slurred, trying to explain. Javier shushed her, hooking a finger under the make-shift compress to see the injury.

She gasped out as the fabric pulled on the open wound, knees buckling underneath her. 

“Terry?” That was Steve, large hands keeping her up off the ground. He pulled her to rest against his chest, putting all her weight on him. “Fuck!”

“Just a flesh wound.” She didn’t sound like herself. 

“Don’t say anything, Terry.” Javier sounded upset and she had no control over her reaction, teeth biting hard into her lower lip. “Don’t do that, c’mon.” Just like the last time, his thumb brushed over the corner of her mouth. 

She released. 

“I should’ve shot him.” The silence was deafening and Terry knew she was wrong to let Martinez go. “I should’ve put a bullet in his _goddamn_ head --” 

“Stop talking,” Steve’s hand brushed over her hair, and Terry shifted away from the motion, straining forward to look at Javier through unshed tears. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” She looked right at Javier. “I’m _sorry_.” 

“Teresa,” She liked hearing that name come out of his mouth. “Don’t you _fucking_ close --”

Silence. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to get it out of the way, I want to clarify that Terry will be fine -- physically. Emotionally, this period in her life is a bit of whirlwind. 
> 
> I was initially going to break this chapter up, but then I decided I preffered it like this. I believe it's the longest chapter I've written so far and, boy, it was a lot to get through !! Robin had her baby (Terrence, lmao), Terry faced off with government bureaucracy, she celebrated an anniversary with Sandoval and found SOMETHING, and then things were a bit off with Javier. To top it all off, she got shot. 
> 
> Wowee. I would love to hear your thoughts!
> 
> I also want to put here that my next update might come a little later than usual; at the latest, this time next week. I need to catch up with rewatching and chapter planning! However, I'm going to be on Tumblr posting a few things. I've been thinking of doing some headcanons/drabbles/answering fic-related questions. If you're interested in that, I'm there under the name itssmashedavo :) 
> 
> Some fun facts from this chapter:
> 
> 1) I couldn't find a release date for The Little Mermaid in Colombia, but I found one for Peru: December 1989! So, I'm inferring that Terry and Robin were able to go see it in early 1990. 
> 
> 2) I found a 2009 report on cocaine from the UN Office on Drugs and Crimes! The report stated the amount of cocaine consumed in the US in 1989 was (if rounded up to the nearest hundred) around 600 tons. In the previous year, 1988, the amount was around 700 tons. 
> 
> 3) Bandeja paisa is a popular Colombian meal. It's a massive plate that normally serves up a combination of beans, rice, pork belly, ground beef, chorizo, plantain, avocado, arepa, and a fried egg. There are variations but this seems to be the most standard combination! 
> 
> The Colombian government planned to make this the national dish but there were a few issues with its name. 'Paisa' is taken from the Paisa Region, which includes Antioquia (capital: Medellin). Some argued that removing the word 'paisa' and replacing it with a more homogenous term would be eradicating the history of the dish. 
> 
> 4) Comuna Popular (Comuna 1) is one of the 16 communes that make up Medellin. The geographical distribution and structure of Medellin is really interesting. The city is divided into zones, which are divided into communes, which are divided into barrios and 'institutional areas'. 
> 
> I'm not sure if it's still the case but Comuna Popular was one of the poorest and most dangerous areas of Medellin. In the show, we see this area as a hub for Escobar support, with the cartel investing in housing and paying residents to run jobs for them. The WSJ article titled 'Cocaineomics' states that investment in poorer communities was a key factor in the cartel maintaining support amongst Colombians.
> 
> 5) When Terry says "just a flesh wound", this was a cheeky reference to the film Monty Python and the Holy Grail. This is one of my absolute favourite movies, and I frequently quote from it. It came out in 1975 so I have a little personal headcanon that Terry saw this as a teen! 
> 
> Spanish-English translations: 
> 
> A mis amigos = to my friends  
> Dinero = money  
> Lo siento = I'm sorry


	13. Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Terry comes to realise what she wants. 
> 
> *******
> 
> As usual, lots of love to everyone who has taken the time to read, give kudos, and/or commented. I really appreciate any type of feedback and I love seeing others interact with my story. I hope you all enjoy this next instalment !!

**December 1990  
Colombia**

Terry came back into the world slowly. 

Any potential shock of waking up in a hospital was overwhelmed by the slow, steady rhythm of the heart monitor, indicating that nothing was wrong. Terry took comfort in the cool breeze coming through an open window near her feet, and the scuffling of shoes on the linoleum floors. 

When she opened her eyes, Terry saw Steve sat next to her bed, his gaze directed at the floor. She tried to speak but all that came out was a hoarse groan, and his head shot up. 

He moved so fast that Terry didn’t see how the cup of water got into her hand. But she was so grateful that she didn’t question it, taking a long swallow. “Just take it slow.” His hands hovered near her, ready to prop her weight up if needed. 

“How long have I been here?” She didn’t sound so rough anymore, and Terry blinked away the sleep crusting her eyes. “It doesn’t look --” 

“It’s only been a few hours,” Steve replied, putting the empty cup on the side table. “You woke up when they took the bullet out but you passed out pretty quickly again.” 

Terry chalked up her lost memory to being in so much pain. She tilted her head to look at the injured shoulder, liking the sight of clean bandages a whole lot more than her raggedy shirt. “No…?” 

“No long term effects but they had to leave some fragments behind. You’re lucky to get some recovery time over the holidays.”

Terry moved to sit up and Steve steadied her, supporting her dead weight as she shifted to lean against the pillows. “Where’s --” 

“Doing your paperwork.” 

“What are you, a mind reader?” She laughed, but the movement jostled her shoulder and Terry stopped, settling on just wheezing. “You seem to know all my questions.” 

Steve shrugged. “Been in a lot of hospitals. First time?” 

Terry hadn’t woken up in the hospital since the car accident and, while she hadn’t developed a fear of hospitals, it wasn’t a pleasant memory to think about. The pause in between his question and her response was telling. “No,” She finally replied. “At least I woke up this time knowing what happened and that nobody’s dead.”

Her wound was on _fire_ and Terry figured it might be her punishment for a joke made in poor taste. 

While Steve tended to be the loose cannon of three, and let his emotions control him, there were moments when Steve was able to tune in _s_ _o well_ to the feelings of others. Terry often sought out Javier for empathy but Steve wasn’t blind to her feelings or her history. They had been partners long enough for him to pick up on some things. 

“I was worried about you, y’know. Didn’t know at first how badly you were injured.” Steve had lost partners before, and Terry couldn’t imagine the _pain_ Steve carried around with him as a result. “Was pretty scared you were going to crap out on me, Bennett.” 

“You’re making me sound like a shitty telephone line.” 

“And you’re not taking me seriously.” Steve’s voice dropped low, barely above a whisper; “I don’t give a shit about Martinez or whichever asshole you were chasing. I don’t want to do this again -- ever.” While he wasn’t angry, Terry could best describe his expression as _disappointed_.

Guilt travelled up from her stomach and settled in her throat; she looked away to stare down at the sheets, counting exposed threads. 

Terry didn’t feel like she was on her deathbed when she got shot. _In shock_ , of course, and in _agony_ , but she hadn’t been afraid of dying. Still, she had to think about what it was like for Steve -- for Javier _._

Her heart seized up whenever Terry even _entertained_ the thought of how she would feel if either of her partners died. They had been working together, existing in the fabric of each other’s lives, for _so_ long now. Losing one of them would be nothing less than catastrophic. 

Terry realised that her getting shot was a turning point for them because it was the first time they’d gotten _close,_ no matter which way she tried to think about it. 

“I’m sorry.”

That was all she could say, and it felt ridiculous because there had to be better words than that. There had to be something else to say which could encompass her understanding, her acknowledgement, of the fear that gripped them at the thought that their time in Colombia could end so traumatically. 

“I’m so sorry, Steve.” 

Steve’s hands dwarfed hers when he cradled them, holding them without any pressure. He smiled at her and Terry realised that his crow’s feet were starting to become deeper, transforming into a permanent fixture on his face.

She wondered if he looked at her and also saw their history engraved in her skin. 

“Me too, Terry.” 

  
  


*******

Sandoval had to make do with phone calls. 

He made an offer -- a _stupid_ offer -- to move Terry in with him for her recovery period. He’d apologised as soon as he said it, and Terry was glad nobody was around to see how her knuckles clenched white around the phone. 

_I want to be there with you,_ he said. 

For a split second, Terry let herself believe that it wasn’t over. She tried searching for something deep within herself that told her that they could be happy together for a long, _long_ time. 

But she couldn’t do it. 

_We need to talk_ , she finally said. 

Her finger hooked around the phone cord, tugging and pulling and _stretching_ the rubber. Her fingernails bit into the material, adorning the cord’s curls with half-crescent patterns. Pain burst at her shoulder and Terry bit down on her lip so hard that it bled. 

Terry waited and waited and _waited_ to hear his reply.

 _I know_. 

Their cards had been dealt a long time ago. 

  
  


*******

She wasn’t sure whether getting shot caused an early-onset mid-life crisis but there was no other possible explanation for Terry deciding to host a Christmas lunch for her friends.

She didn’t have enough tableware so Terry had to ask Connie for spares. The plates and bowls and cutlery were mismatched but, if anyone asked, she was prepared to use the _I-got-shot-three-weeks-ago_ excuse. Never mind that the wound was healing and Terry was able to use that arm fairly well, juggling pots and pans -- moving _furniture_ because Terry had to baby-proof her apartment. 

Robin was bringing her son, Terrence, with her and while Terry expected for said-child to be held most of the time, she didn’t need her godson cracking his head open on an unprotected corner. The manual labour required caused her to sweat more than she thought she would. By the time Terry managed a quick shower and a change of clothes, guests were already banging on her front door. 

Robin shoved her baby into Terry’s arms before Terry could even get out a greeting. “I’ll fix your cooking if you _please_ take care of him. I’m so fucking _exhausted_.” 

“You look great?” Robin still looked like her usually-polished self, bright blue high heels and all, but there was something _manic_ in her eyes that made Terry shut up. 

Plus, Terry needed help with the stew. 

She absent-mindedly brushed her hand down the back of baby Terrence, and Terry finally gave her godson a well-deserved greeting. “Hello, frijolito.” 

Terry was of the mindset that most babies were ugly until they were at least a year old. Terry had only met Robin’s husband a few times but she could see Terrence had his dark eyes. Everything else, he’d inherited from Robin: from his white-blonde hair to his rather long toes. All in all, he was a pretty cute baby. 

Acknowledging her greeting, Terrence used a chubby fist to firmly pat her cheek, giving Terry a gummy smile. He babbled at her and Terry nodded appropriately. “There _is_ a present for you from Santa! Isn’t that exciting?”

Terrence’s fingers hooked around a lock of her hair and tugged, “Glad we agree.” 

It was comical the way Terrence tried to throw himself over her arm to get a closer look at the kitchen when he heard Robin swear aloud, talking to herself about plating arrangements. His head slowly turned back to Terry and she only raised an eyebrow at her godson. “Auntie Terry is going to pour a big glass of wine for your Mom.” He cooed, and Terry couldn’t resist smacking her lips against his chubby cheek just to hear his little laugh. “Yes I am!” 

Terry had a few cousins here and there that were significantly younger than her. But she’d also been a teenager by then and so hadn’t been interested in taking care of them. Considering that her parents worked at a university, Terry had mostly been surrounded by young adults and academics. As a teen, she wanted so much to grow up so she could be _one of them_.

However, she liked this stage of her life when her friends were having babies. Terry was happy to play with her friend’s kids while not having the burden of being their full-time caretaker. Steve and Connie had made Terry think about it more, recently. The Murphy’s hadn’t given up Natalie’s baby for adoption and seemed to be leaning towards adopting the child themselves. 

Terry hadn’t seen Connie since her accident but Steve looked _happy_. He talked about the baby like she was already his daughter. It was sweet and Terry was happy for them, whatever the outcome may be. 

The doorbell rang and Terry moved Terrence so he was resting against her hip. “Maybe that’ll be a friend for you to play with!” He looked excited when she said ‘play’ and Terry quickly meandered to the door. On the other side, Javier looked surprised to see Terrence.

“Is that Robin’s baby?” His eyes were wide, shifting between her and the baby. His lips parted ever so slightly when he focused back on her and Terry hated how she felt self-conscious all the sudden, heat rising in her cheeks. 

Seemingly aware, Terrence gave her a look she could only describe as _sour_. She ignored the look because he was a _baby_ , no matter how much Robin thought he was already becoming a chismoso. “My namesake.” 

“Weird,” Javier concluded but he still knocked a knuckle against Terrence’s cheek in greeting. Terrence’s face was flat while he assessed the man, before leaning into Terry’s chest, decidedly uninterested. 

“At least nobody is calling _him_ ‘Terry’. There’s no room for two of us,” She joked, and her eyes dropped to the bottle of tequila in Javier’s hand. “We’ll definitely be needing that.” 

“Thought you’d like it.” Javier didn’t let her grab the bottle from him and, instead, stepped forward to kiss her on the cheek. Terry closed her eyes, enjoying the feel of him pressed against her for those few moments. 

She took a step back when Terrence started squirming against her, not liking his personal space being invaded. “Thanks, Javi.” 

Terry left the door open thinking the Murphy’s would be coming soon. Javier followed her inside, quickly ditching her to go harass Robin, and Terry followed suit to watch her friend’s interaction with both amusement and wariness. 

“Robin, you’re looking beautiful today,” Javier sidled close, and Robin let herself be pulled into the side of his body. “Tell me, is that husband of yours taking care of you?” 

Robin smiled sweetly but drew up a stew-covered spoon to his face threateningly. “You’re sweet, Pena, but not my type. Fuck off!” 

Terrence seemed to find everything as hilarious as Terry did, gurgling while clapping his hands. Terry watched as Robin’s eyes lit up at the sight, waggling her fingers at her son: it was clear to all in the room that Terrence was her _whole_ world. 

Familiar with Terry’s apartment, Javier swiped a beer from the fridge and cracked it open using the edge of the counter. Terry watched him swallow, distracted by the movement before a sharp tugging sensation brought her out of the daydream. 

Terrence didn’t look happy. “You can’t judge me,” She whispered to him, and he tugged on her hair again. “Ow!”

“Here, give him to me.” Javier plucked Terrence off of her, forcing the baby to let go of her hair from his grip. “Jesus, you’re heavy for a --- how old is he again?” 

Robin shouted, “seven months! I gave you a damn card, Pena.”

Despite Terrence’s ambivalent attitude towards Javier at the door, he quickly settled into the man’s chest. Terry had never seen Javier interacting with kids; something stirred in her, watching how easily Javier carried around her godson. His hold was secure and comforting, a hand rubbing soothing circles on Terrence's back.

 _Javi would be a good father_.

She immediately suppressed all fantasies that came in conjunction with such thoughts. 

“Wait there,” Terry ran into her room, picking the disposable camera from her bed. Returning, she fumbled with the settings before holding it up, ignoring Javier’s protests. “Smile!” 

He didn’t smile but he did look down at Terrence, quiet.

Terry lowered the camera, coming over to press a loud kiss on her godson’s forehead. He giggled and she smiled at him, basking in his childish joy. “Tan lindo, mi amor! Your Mom is going to be so happy to have some nice photos of you.” 

Javier’s hand came to rest against her lower back, holding her close so that Terrence was now held in between their bodies. Her godson didn’t seem to mind, taking the opportunity to nestle in close, but Terry could feel her heart _racing_ through her entire body. “You’re so good with him,” Javier murmured, and Terry was surprised to see the _heat_ pooling in his eyes.

Like her musings before, there was something almost primal about seeing someone you loved taking care of others -- especially children. She instinctively licked her lips, and Terry watched Javier’s pupils dilate as he caught onto the movement. “Javi --” 

She was cut off by Connie yelling “ _aw_!” as she entered the living room. Connie was followed by Steve, who was carrying their foster child. Terry thought the three of them looked like a picture-perfect family. 

“Let me get a photo of you three.” Connie snatched the camera from Terry, already moving around to get the best angle. Terry shot a pleading look at Steve, who merely waved a hand at his partners before meandering into the kitchen. “Hey! Don’t look so upset -- you're gonna love it.” 

The problem wasn’t the photo. The problem was that Terry didn’t know how much longer she could pretend everything was okay when it came to Javier. 

Terry shifted in place to face away from Javi, helping prop up Terrence so that he rested more comfortably between them. Javier’s hand still lay against her spine and his thumb shifted to run along the vertebrae. 

It looked and felt like they were taking a casual family portrait, and Terry couldn’t help the warmth that spread through her chest at the realisation. 

The camera flashed. 

Photos from that day went up on Terry’s bedroom wall. Robin laughing over burnt chicken stew; Terrence and the orphaned child, later known as Olivia Murphy, playing with blocks under the table; Steve and Connie kissing while Terry stuck her tongue out behind them. 

The portrait of Terry, Javier, and Terrence was her favourite because all three were smiling. 

  
  


*******

**1 January 1991  
  
**

She’d spent New Year’s Eve alone, unable to cope with being around her friends or Javier, knowing what she planned to do the next day. 

The front door closed but neither of them moved towards the other. Sandoval’s hands rested in his pockets and Terry’s were clenched around her handbag. He hadn't seen her since she was shot and so his eyes roamed her body, stopping intermittently to look at the injured shoulder. 

The silence was _oppressive_. 

Saying nothing, Sandoval lead her to the living room. She’s comfortable enough in his space not to wait for him to tell her to sit down -- not comfortable enough, though, to accept the drink he offers. Discomforted at the thought of using alcohol to distract herself, Terry asks for water. 

She owed him that much: to devote all her attention to him. 

“You deserve someone who loves you and can be a part of your life in the way that I can’t.”

Terry doesn’t say that she loves him. She’s said it plenty of time before and not just in the heat of the moment. She’s spoken the sentiment over quiet meals and late-night talks, in instances of joy where she can’t imagine being happier without him in her life. For all her agonising over the situation, Terry can’t pretend like she never loved Sandoval. 

She doesn’t say that she loves him because it feels cruel to say it _now_. 

Terry knew that it would never last but it didn’t stop her from imagining all the _whats ifs_. Those daydreams were unrealistic but they were never alien _._ To an extent, they were dreams that she wanted, deep down -- just not with _him_. The longer their relationship went on, the more _wrong_ Terry felt about it.

Not because her feelings weren’t true but because she couldn’t devote herself to him, _wholly_ , the way Sandoval deserved. 

They came together under exceptional circumstances: in a _tsunami_ of frustration and grief that somehow managed to not drown the respect and affection they held for one another. Context mattered and their relationship existed within the boundaries both created by them and imposed _on_ them. 

Terry loved Sandoval because he was a great man but their lives didn’t _fit_ together. 

Eventually, their relationship would no longer be secret. And, in the process of coming out in the open, Terry and Sandoval would compromise _everything_ that they had both worked so hard for. It was truth long-known by them both. 

“There are things you want that I can’t give you,” Terry crossed her arms over her chest, cradling herself. “I found the ring.” 

She decided to tell him about the ring because she wanted Sandoval to know that it wasn't his fault. By never seeing a future for the two of them, Terry enforced a self-fulfilling prophecy on their relationship. She didn’t want Sandoval to blame himself for what she saw as _her_ failure.

Sandoval had done nothing wrong. 

“I didn’t know what to do but I hoped you would never ask me because I would say no. Because I,” She swallowed thickly and knew that she would never be able to blame Sandoval for his reaction. “There is someone that I’ve loved for a long time and I’m going to regret it if I never tell him.” 

It was then that Terry discovered there is no such thing as a less cruel way to admit to loving someone else. He was so, _so_ quiet. 

Sandoval froze like she’d sunk a knife into his chest. Terry could see flickers of understanding in his gaze but the _grief_ was more pronounced. She didn’t move her eyes away from him but Sandoval ducked his head to the side, breathing deeply, averting his gaze away from her like it was painful to look at her. 

Deep down, Terry knew she made the right choice in telling him. That didn’t change the fact that her honesty had _d_ _evastated_ him. 

“Did you mean it?” _Did you mean it when you said 'I love you'?_

“Yes _._ ” Terry answered instantaneously. She could read his confusion, anguish, and rage. 

Terry had been apologising a lot, recently, and every single time she never knew whether it was enough. Terry didn’t think Sandoval would appreciate an apology from her as it would only come across as patronising, insincere, and hollow -- even if she didn’t intend it to. There was absolutely nothing she could say that would make things better. An apology, now, would do nothing to ease his pain.

Terry loved him but that wasn’t enough: not for her, not for him. Only time would do its job in repairing things between them. 

After a few beats of silence, Sandoval spoke again: “You should go.”

“Eduardo.”

Terry stood up to try to make her way over to him, an aborted attempt at comfort when she _knew_ she had no right to do so. He held up a hand in her direction, stopping her in her place. “ _Please_.” His voice cracked and Terry felt _shattered_. 

In their shared work, she knew that Sandoval would be nothing but respectful. But Terry also knew that even their professional interactions would be tainted with the residual grief over their romantic relationship. When she closed the front door behind her, Terry knew that there would be no reconciliation that ended with them back together.

One day, she hoped that they could be friends -- because they had never been friends. 

Terry drove in silence and went straight to bed when she got home. 

She didn’t cry but the sadness was a weight pressing down on her chest; Terry embraced the discomfort that came with the feeling of being slowly suffocated. It felt like the appropriate price to pay for breaking someone’s heart. 

How strange, for their relationship to end so abruptly. But, in many ways, the ending had not been abrupt at all -- just so long overdue that Terry was left wondering why she had let it go on for so long, especially when it only _compounded_ the pain that came with its end. 

On this night, she welcomed and accepted the _hatred_ that came with knowing she'd hurt Sandoval, while simultaneously allowing herself to _revel_ in the knowledge of what lay ahead of her. In such conflict, she let herself be enveloped by it. 

Her eyes caught onto the photo. 

Terry went to sleep knowing that she'd made the right choice. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sad to say goodbye to Terry and Sandoval. I didn't mean for their relationship to be such a big part of this story but I fell in love with them and I have no regrets. Writing their breakup was super har and I felt really, really bad for them both. I wanted to find a balance between emphasising how this is a good and much-needed decision for Terry to make versus how choices she's made have completely devastated Sandoval. 
> 
> Sandoval will not be disappearing from this story and we're going to see them interacting -- just very different than before. While Terry will be moving on, it'll be hard for Sandoval to do the same. Eventually, though, they will be able to come together as friends !! 
> 
> But the big news for today: this is THE turning point for Terry and Javi. Things are finally, finally coming to a head. 
> 
> Excited to hear your thoughts, feelings, predictions etc. I hope you are all doing well! ❤️
> 
> Spanish-English translations!
> 
> frijolito = little bean  
> chismoso = (masculine) someone who likes to gossip  
> ** my absolute favourite word.  
> tan lindo = so cute/so pretty  
> mi amor = my love


	14. Fourteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Terry takes a leap of faith. 
> 
> *******
> 
> Here we are, folks: content warning for smut.
> 
> Thank you for all the wonderful feedback on the last chapter AND the previous ones. Thank you for the comments, the kudoses (kudi?), and the time that you spend reading and engaging with this story. It means the world to me. I hope this was worth the wait ❤️

**Early 1991  
** **Bogota, Colombia**

Desk duty turns out to be busier than expected because Diana Turbay is killed in a botched Search Bloc raid.

Hostages being killed by cartel members was one thing but to have, arguably, the most important hostage _accidentally_ killed by the CNP? It was the most colossal fuck-up that Terry had witnessed during her time in Colombia. The cherry on top of the pile-of-shit cake was Escobar getting away -- again. 

To make matters worse, all this had led Gaviria to decide that he was going to allow Escobar to build his own prison if he surrendered to the Colombian government. Terry understood that Gaviria was under a lot of pressure but, even so, she felt _betrayed_ by her former colleague. 

What the fuck were they doing here if Escobar was going to get away with _everything_? 

She found herself in a meeting, barely holding back noises of frustration as Sandoval attempted to justify Gaviria’s choice. Terry was joined by Javier, Steve, and Ambassador Noonan. Noonan seemed to be the only one accepting the verdict. 

Sandoval had barely looked at her but besides that had been every bit as professional as he normally was. They had plenty of practice pretending like there was nothing between them when they _were_ together, so it made sense for that to continue _after_ the fact. 

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary and yet everything had changed between them. 

“It’s a victory to put Escobar in jail.” Noonan looked ready for the whole Escobar nightmare to be over. Terry could understand but what she couldn’t believe was that putting Escobar in his _cartel funded and built prison_ would solve any of their problems. 

“It’s _capitulation_ ,” Javier voiced her worries, leaning over Noonan’s desk to stare right at Sandoval. 

Sandoval snapped. “Why do you want Escobar?” He shouted, rising from his seat. “You think this is a game, right? You want to parade him in your DEA jackets? Our people want peace. This is not a fucking game!”

The room fell silent. Javier and Steve both straightened up; both men, along with Noonan, had the same expression of realisation on their faces. Gaviria was done messing around with Escobar and, subsequently, so was Sandoval. 

Terry still had to ask the question. “Can you not convince him otherwise?”

When she spoke, Sandoval had no choice but to look at her. He was good at hiding his personal life well but he had never looked so _guarded_ in front of her -- not in a long time. Terry knew then he was still hurt. 

But there was no time to be nice and to tread lightly around him; Terry expected Sandoval already knew that. If anything, he might’ve prepared for more antagonism following their breakup. Terry had to ask the question because doing otherwise meant she wouldn’t be doing her job properly. 

If the DEA was going to go along with Gaviria’s plan, Terry was going to make sure that they fucking covered their asses. 

“I’ve tried.” 

“Try _harder_.” She ignored the warning look on Noonan’s face. “You know just as much as we do that allowing Pablo Escobar to negotiate the terms of his _own surrender_ is nothing short of a disaster. We’re not even going to be able to monitor him, for Christ's sake.” 

“And you know nothing of the pressure Gaviria is under right now.” While he didn’t look too concerned, Sandoval seemingly wasn’t going to entertain her further. “It is not a decision being taken lightly.”

“I didn’t mean to insinuate that.” 

“I don’t need you to tell me how to do my job, Agent Bennett.” The way he spoke reminded her of the first time they met: all frustration and _distaste_. After being on the receiving end of the opposite, it stung. “It is not your place to decide what _Colombians_ should do for Colombia.” 

There was more than just hurt residing in Sandoval. Because while Terry had been in Colombia for years, this wasn’t her country. She had a home country she could fuck off to if things got _too hard_. Neither Sandoval nor Gaviria had that luxury -- and as public officials, the two of them had to wait out the storm instead of jumping ship. 

So many factors were at play and Terry reminded herself that she couldn’t say that his choices were uneducated or misinformed, no matter how _i_ _nfuriating_ they were. 

“Fine,” She acquiesced, and Terry ignored how Noonan looked _pleased_ that she was no longer berating Sandoval. She also ignored Javier’s confused expression, who’s eyes were darting between herself and her former lover. 

Terry kept her eyes on Sandoval: _I hope you know what you’re doing_. =

He averted his gaze.  
  


*******

Robin took a day off so Terry decided to drag Steve to lunch. 

Sitting on the steps of the embassy, the two of them scoffed down arepas, the stolen pot of coffee from the office break room placed in between them. Steve had made today’s pot and Terry immediately noticed that it tasted like fuel. 

She only swallowed because she _really_ needed it after the last few weeks. 

“Good?” 

“The arepas? Absolutely. Your coffee?” Terry gave Steve a sideways look. “You’re better off just buying your fuel at the gas station.“

“Shut the fuck up,” He grumbled but even Steve grimaced as he downed another half cup. “This is going to make you _strong._ " 

“This isn’t the equivalent of milk for babies, Steve.” She shook the jug at him. “I’m hoping you’re not going to eventually convert your child to this shit.” 

Steve didn’t even mind her critique because he was too busy smiling at the thought of his baby. Noticing his expression, Terry rolled her eyes but didn’t say anything else. Steve and Connie deserved to be happy, and this child seemed to be aiding in that. 

“You got a name for her yet?” 

“Nah,” Steve stood up, brushing his hands down his trousers to get rid of the crumbs. “It’ll come to us eventually.” 

Terry followed suit, crumbling up their food wrappings and tossing the bundle into a nearby bin. She took a moment to gaze out onto the square in front of her, seeing other DEA agents mixing into Bogota’s lunchtime crowds. 

She wondered whether things would look the same when Escobar went to prison: tranquil on the surface but _roaring_ underneath the waves. 

Terry quickly turned her head away from the outside world and focused on getting back into the office, Steve following in her footsteps. 

“I can’t believe Gaviria’s just going to let him _go_.” She spoke her thoughts aloud.

“It’s fucking bullshit, man,” Steve agreed, throwing open the doors. “And Sandoval’s being more of an asshole than usual.” 

“I wonder why,” Terry muttered under her breath, not expecting Steve to hear. 

“You and Sandoval having a domestic?”

Terry didn’t slow in her step, refusing to look at Steve when she answered him. “You can’t have a domestic when you’re not together.” 

His hand yanked on her arm, forcefully pulling her to a stop. Terry recalled, all the years ago, Javier calling Steve a _mother-hen_. Right now, he was every inch of it.

When she craned her head up to look up at him, Terry received the full force of Steve’s concern. “Terry.” 

“ _Steve_.” 

“Are you okay?” 

She paused because Terry hadn’t told anyone yet and, thus, nobody had to ask her if she was or _wasn’t_ okay. “Yeah, I am.” 

Seeing Sandoval was hard because he was hurt and Terry was the cause of it. For whatever reasons she had, Sandoval had gotten the proverbial short end of the stick and had it smacked across his face for good measure. It wasn’t the breakup that she wasn’t okay about --- it was the fallout. 

Terry didn’t feel right _announcing_ the breakup like it was some spectacle that her friends could participate in. But she felt safe enough to tell Steve when he asked: “Are you _really_?”

“Steve,” Terry reached up on her tip-toes to sling an arm around his shoulders, dragging him along the corridor with her as she started walking towards their office. “If I wasn’t okay, I’d tell you.”

Steve allowed himself to be man-handled, and neither of them cared when other DEA agents stared after them. “You don’t have to lie to me, y’know.” Even at the awkward angle, Steve reached up to squeeze her hand. 

Terry kicked open their office door, letting go of Steve when they crossed the threshold. Her partner _stretched_ upwards, cracking his neck for good measure as he got used to regaining back his full height. 

“I broke up with him, and not without reason.” She straddled her desk chair, fingers reaching out to fiddle with her collection of pens. 

“Did you not love him?”

Terry thumbed through black, red, another black, _another_ red pen as she tried to come up with an answer that wouldn’t completely fuck her over. “ _No_. It’s not...I can’t explain it.”

She hadn’t even told _Robin_ about the engagement ring she found. Their relationship was their own, even if it was now over, and that conversation wasn’t one that Terry was comfortable having. Especially not with how _raw_ it still felt or how closely she was still working with Sandoval. 

“Try me.” Steve sat back in his chair, long legs stretched out in front of him -- cool and casual. He was a good listener when he wanted to be, and Terry tried to stop feeling like she was too much of a burden to her friend. 

“I’m in love with someone else.” 

This was only the second time she’d admitted it to another person; it was easier said the second time than the first. When Terry had told Sandoval, the truth had caused him pain. When she told Steve, the truth was just _the truth_ \-- and nothing else.

“Javi.”

Terry almost fell out of her chair with how hard she jerked back. Steve didn’t look amused or happy or even confused _;_ he acted like he was telling Terry what he had for breakfast. “ _What_?” 

“Jesus, Terry, I’m not _blind_. Give me some credit,” Steve rolled his eyes and Terry had to make sure that she wasn't gaping at him like some dumb-struck goldfish. “Can’t put a date to it. Christmas, maybe? Connie said I should’ve seen it coming _years ago_ but I call bullshit.” 

It was only natural for couples to talk about these things. Even Terry and Javi had talked about the Murphy’s on occasion and _they_ weren’t together. Except Terry didn’t know how she felt about Steve and Connie gossiping about _her_ _and Javi_. Terry and Javi -- like there was something there to talk about.

Which there _was_ , she supposed, but Terry didn’t think it was interesting or _obvious_ enough for Connie and Murphy to discuss. 

She struggled to come up with a response, and Steve looked like he had all the time in the world to play therapist to her. “I mean, you already broke up with Eddy so it shouldn’t be _that_ hard to figure out what to do,” He continued. “No hay que ahogarse en un vaso de agua, my friend.” 

Steve had butchered the pronunciation and performed it slowly and _drawled_ out but the sentiment didn’t change. Terry couldn’t help the relief that overcame her, realising that Steve didn’t see anything wrong with the situation. 

It was nice to have her feelings validated when she was at her most vulnerable.

Terry missed her Mom a lot in these moments, wondering what she would say said if Terry came to her for advice. Except Steve sounded a _lot_ like her Mom when he broke out the classic proverb. So, Terry told him, “You sound like my Mom.” 

“Uh, _yeah,_ because we’re both smart people.” 

Terry didn’t miss how Steve spoke like her Mom was still alive. It was something _so_ small in the grand scheme of things--maybe something said unconsciously--but its significance wasn’t lost on her. She had told Steve, back when she was still in the hospital, that she never felt like she got to say goodbye to her parents.

 _It’s so stupid_ , Terry had said. _Of course I wasn’t able to say goodbye before something I didn’t know was going to happen_. _I just --- I didn’t even get to see their bodies_. 

Steve speaking of her Mom in the present-tense made reminded Terry that her Mom was still around her, _with_ her, and that she hadn’t left her daughter completely. It was comforting to hear. 

“The world is fucked, Terry.” Steve spread his arms out, gesturing to the entire space around them. “I have Connie and I’ve got my kid. You might as well enjoy having one thing for yourself, too.” 

“....thanks.”

“But this is the last colleague you’re going to be fucking, mark my words.”

Steve tossed his whisky flask to her and Terry knew that at least one relationship in her life would stay the same. 

  
  


*******

Thomas Kuhn used the phrase ‘paradigm shift’ to describe when there’s a fundamental change in the concepts and practices that define a scientific discipline. Paradigm shifts affect the very nature of those concepts and practices so that the old way and meaning is rendered incompatible, useless, no longer able to perceive reality correctly. 

Terry was undergoing her version of a paradigm shift. The object of study -- the _person_ \-- was Javier. In the weeks following the breakup, Terry was made aware of changes to the very _core_ of her relationship with Javier. 

A fundamental change was so close to her reach that it was _painful_ for Terry to push that extra inch forward to grasp onto it. It didn’t feel right, anymore, to call him her partner or _f_ _riend_. In all honesty, it had never actually felt right to refer to Javier as such. 

The dim, yellow lighting of the bar cast shadows across Javier’s face that Terry peered into, seeking out answers. He was closed off to her and Terry hated the discomfort that curled low in her belly, knowing that she was partly to blame. 

She'd avoided being in a room alone with Javier since Christmas. Work was busy and she used it as an excuse to not go out, to spend evenings alone, to prioritise research over seeing him. It wasn’t healthy.

But Terry didn’t want to be questioned about Sandoval or questioned about _anything_ without having the answers right in front of her. She didn’t want to see Javier until she could put into words how she felt. 

However, excuses ran out and the world wasn’t built for Terry’s comfort. It was stupid to hold Javier at arm’s length when he was the one person she _needed_ to talk to. And so, when Javier asked her out for drinks, she went with him. 

_Seven years_ had passed and those years were filled with memories. The setting and activity were familiar. Except Terry kept shifting in her seat and Javier just _stared_ at her _,_ and she knew that there was a distinct difference between this outing and all their past ones. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked, after minutes of silence. 

“Tell you what?” 

“That you and Sandoval ended things.” Javier took only a short drag from his cigarette, seemingly not wanting to leave space for her to answer. “A _month_ ago.” 

Terry clutched onto her glass, feeling like her knuckles were about to burst out of their casing of thin skin. “I didn’t have time to.” The lie tasted bitter on her tongue cand Javier had caught onto it easily. 

“But you told Steve.” 

The accusation was clear in his tone and Terry knew then that her attempts to avoid Javier had only succeeded in making him upset. He didn’t quite glare at her but his gaze was hard, his bottom lip being periodically pulled in by his teeth. 

“Do you want an apology?” Terry didn’t know how to move past this. “It wasn’t anything worth talking about. We had shit going on at work and I didn’t need to talk about it with anyone.”

“That doesn’t answer my question about Steve.” 

“Steve just made a stupid comment and I corrected him,” She took a long, slow sip of her drink and took respite in the way the tequila distracted her from Javier’s growing frustration. “You never ask about Eduardo.” 

“That’s different from letting me know that you’re not together.” 

“No, it’s not.” She knew how ridiculous she sounded because of the incredulous look that spread across Javier’s face.

He scoffed, chucking his finished cigarette to the ground. “We’ve been friends a long time so I didn’t think you were the type to _bullshit_ me right now.” His hand gripped his glass now, thumb wiping off droplets of whiskey from the rim. 

Javier lifted his thumb to his lips so that he could lick across it, all the while not taking his eyes off her. Underneath all of that frustration was _longing._

Terry didn’t bother looking to see whether other patrons were looking at them -- because she was so focused on _him_. She couldn’t have been distracted from him even if someone decided to hold a gun up to her head.

“What do you want to hear? That I hated seeing you with Sandoval for so long? That I hated the thought of having to watch you walk away and live out some fucking fantasy life with him?”

Javier was furious: lips curling so that his teeth were bared, brow furrowed. But Terry was overcome by the sudden realisation that such anger wasn’t meant for her -- it was directed at Sandoval. Javier was _jealous_. 

“How was I supposed to know any different after a fucking _YEAR_ , Teresa?” The rage was practically _rolling_ off him in tidal waves but such a feeling was tinged with desperation. “Do you want to know what it felt like thinking you could leave me?”

Javier fell silent, chest heaving, eyes wide. 

Years ago, Javier had been the first to notice her use of his first name. She grew to love how his name sounded, the way it rolled off her tongue, the way it just _sat there_ in her mouth ready to say: _Javi Javi Javi. Javier._

With her family, she had always been _Teresa_. With everyone else, she was just _Terry_. When her parents died, it felt like Teresa became an entirely separate person. She wasn’t Teresa without her parents, and that was a truth she clutched onto her for her entire adult life so far. 

Names were important.

She’d always felt so awkward when others used the name, even _violated_ , in the case of Martinez. Terry never thought that she’d ever enjoy hearing it again. 

Somewhere, along the way, that name had become a part of Javier’s vernacular. And Terry _liked_ the way he said it -- like he understood its significance. 

So, Terry made sure that he knew how much it meant to her. More so, how much _he_ meant to her in a way that Terry could articulate. No more silent conversations or promises of _eventually_ \-- this was it. She was sure that if she didn’t speak up now, she would never get another chance to. 

“You’re the only person who can call me Teresa.” Underneath the table, Terry dug her nails into the wood, grounding herself there in a moment that felt far from real. “The _only_ person.” 

Javier had opened up to her and so Terry felt that it was her turn to do the same -- to trust that Javi would accept her, wounds and all, and cross beyond the lines of friendship. Terry broke free of the restraints holding her back, that she had created all on her own.

"You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.” 

Her admittance hung in the air like a piece of rubber pulled _taut_ , on the verge of either snapping or rebounding back to its original form. 

A younger version of herself would have been _terrified_ of how Javier's life had become so intertwined with her own, beyond the parameters of _just friends_ or _just_ _partners_. But the two of them had blurred and crossed those boundaries years ago and, now, Terry had no fear of what could come of it. 

There was no way to pretend, anymore, that Javier didn’t mean the entire world to her. 

“I couldn’t let you go even if I tried. Javi, I --” 

Javier grabbed her by the back of the neck and pulled her to meet him halfway over the table. He cut her off with a bruising kiss, and all of Terry’s senses were overwhelmed. 

He tasted like whiskey and smoke and a scent of _him_ that Terry had known for so long. Javier was all leather and denim; his moustache felt rough on the delicate skin above her lip and Terry _relished_ it. Javier tethered her to the world with his hands, with his mouth, and she let herself be dragged down back to Earth by him. 

Kissing him was like coming home. 

  
  


*******

  
  


She didn’t bother fumbling for the lights and let herself enjoy how Javier pressed her into the door instead. His teeth scraped along the slope of her neck and Terry _whimpered_ , feeling heat pool in between her thighs along with the increased urge to feel him naked and in between them. 

She gave in to her desires and shoved Javier away from her, panting.

He looked as dishevelled as she felt. He was all bruised lips and _dark eyes,_ lit up in the same excitement she felt, and Terry had never felt so _n_ _eedy_ before. “Take off your clothes.”

Her voice was barely above a whisper but Javier straightened up like he’d been given a _command_. He didn’t bother unbuttoning his shirt, pulling it over his head instead. He stopped at taking his jeans off, moving back so that he was pressed against her. 

“I want to help you,” He murmured, and then he did. 

Javier unbuttoned her shirt _reverently_ , taking his time enjoying the gradual reveal of her body to his gaze. Terry closed her eyes when he leaned in to mouth at the open skin, his tongue tracing lines along her collarbone and sternum, biting at her pulse point. 

Left in just her bra and underwear, Terry dragged Javier’s face up so that she could fuse her mouth to his once again. Fisting his hair in hand, she drank in _all_ that he was and swallowed his groan when she tugged on his locks.

Javier’s fingers dug into the flesh of her thighs, her butt, and Terry _sunk_ into him. She could feel him hardening against her stomach, his cock straining against his jeans. In response, Terry only felt herself get _slicker_ knowing that she was the cause. 

She barely had enough air left in her lungs to let out a sharp exhale when he lifted her, carrying her over to the couch. Javier sat upright with her in his lap, and Terry took a moment to just stare down at him in _awe_. 

“You’re so beautiful,” She had no control over her mouth but Terry didn’t even care. “ _Fuck_ , Javi, you’re so _beautiful_.” 

She would never return from this and she would never want to. 

Terry brushed a hand between his brow, smoothing out the wrinkles there, tracing the texture at the corners of his eyes and his jaw. She was distracted by _everything_ about him and so overwhelmed that she could finally touch him like this. 

Touching him felt like a religious experience. She wanted to _worship_ him, to kneel at his altar and get _drunk_ on his glory. 

One of his large hands moved up from her thigh to caress her face, and like the first time, Terry pressed a kiss into his palm. Except she didn’t need to hold herself back and so she kissed along the palm, his knuckles, his fingers -- sucking his thumb into her mouth, hollowing out her cheeks. 

Javier’s eyes _blazed._ “Are you okay?” 

She released the digit, making sure to nod as she spoke. “Yeah. You?” 

“Yeah.” He dragged her down for another _filthy_ kiss. 

Terry fully devoted herself to him and Javier gave himself equally. Both of them smiled when their noses bumped and their teeth clashed, and they laughed when Javier pulled away to remove a strand of her hair that had gotten caught on the edges of his mouth. 

He was so, _so_ happy and Terry could see that in the lines that became pronounced when he smiled at her. 

Terry stopped laughing when Javier’s fingers spread away from her thigh and underneath her underwear, touching her slick warmth for the first time. Javier’s eyes were still on hers even as he sunk one finger into her.

Terry resisted the urge to throw her head back at the stretch, instead, making sure Javier saw the way her mouth fell open when she let out a _moan_. “You’re so _wet_. You’re so _fucking_ wet, baby.” He whispered, his praise echoing in the little space between them. 

Terry clenched at the pet-name. “You like that?” Javier sounded dazed but his eyes were _clear,_ so highly-aware of what he was doing to her. She moaned louder when another finger sunk into her. “You like it when I call you that.”

It wasn’t a question. 

“Yes,” She mumbled. His thumb started to rub circles around her clit and Terry _arched_ , wanting to both run away and chase the feeling. “Yes yes yes _yes_.”

She had never felt _this_ _good_. 

Her orgasm crashed into her, and Terry could hear Javier’s praises as she trembled through wave after wave _after wave_. Mouth open in a silent scream, all Terry could do was gasp and clutch at his shoulders, holding herself to him. 

With her thighs still twitching, Terry poured herself back into him, half-finished sentences and incoherent words pressed along his skin. 

“You’re amazing,” He whispered, still stroking her through the aftermath. “So, so, good.” 

“Javi,” She breathed, licking her palm before letting it run down his chest to rest on the skin of his lower belly. Terry’s fingers flicked over the jean buttons, not yet undoing them. “Let me take care of you?” 

“ _Yes_ ,” Javier pleaded, lifting his hips at her touch. 

He was straining against the denim, and Javier let out a _hiss_ of relief when Terry let his cock out of its confinement. She traced a random pattern under the head before bringing up her slick hand in a swift stroke. 

Terry grinned when he threw his head back, panting _her name._

She didn’t think about the other women he had fucked; she didn’t think about Sandoval. All Terry was focused on was _him and her_ and the way they were making each other feel. Terry thought she could stay here forever. 

She continued stroking him, bringing up her hand occasionally to lick it, spit on it -- once, even, letting Javi lick the precum off. The skin on her chest _flushed_ as she watched him chase the taste of himself. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” He groaned, bringing his hands behind her back to unclasp her bra.

Terry couldn’t help but laugh when his eyes lit up almost in _glee_ at the sight of her bare breasts. “Like what you see?” She teased, pressing along the throbbing vein on the underside of his cock.

Javi moaned before grasping at her right breast, fingers trembling as he explored the now unhidden parts of her. He brushed over the nipple and Terry jerked her hips, shifting forward to press her forehead against his. Javier’s other hand moved to clutch at the back of her head, holding Terry to him.

Their proximity made his honesty all the more apparent. “Always have.” Javier was smiling, too, his gaze soft and completely unguarded. 

She wasn’t the only one who had been _yearning_ for this, not knowing how much she wanted it until it was happening. Everything Terry was feeling right now felt _worth_ the wait. 

Her hands splayed to reach his balls but Javier flinched away from it, immediately making Terry draw back and hold her hands up to his chest. “You okay?” She asked, concerned. 

“ _Yeah_ ,” Javier replied, hand shifting from the back of her head to grab her by the hip. He pulled her closer so she was sitting right up against him, soaked underwear rubbing against his bare cock. “I don’t want to come right now.” 

“Can’t go a few rounds, old timer?”

Terry squealed when Javier tossed her to the side, landing heavily on her back.

But he quickly settled over her, drawing her legs over his narrow hips. She whimpered when he pressed flush against her. “I’m not _old!_ ” Javier tugged her hair back and she arched into the motion, pressing her chest upwards. One of his hands, teasingly, drew circles around her nipple -- not giving into touching her yet. 

“You just don’t want to admit you need glasses, Javi.” She teased. “Don’t worry, I’ll still find you sexy.” 

Javier ignored her in favour of shucking off her underwear, before plunging two thick fingers back into her. She tensed before breathing out, relaxing into the motion, pressing her face into his neck as she _whined_. Terry had never felt so utterly _wrecked._

The apartment was silent except for them: the slick sounds of her as Javier spread his fingers, thumbing along her clit. Her moaning as his long fingers hit _that spot;_ the heavy breathing of Javier as he leaned down to place an erect nipple in between his lips -- the words of _praise_ that escaped them both. 

They were so, _so_ eager to please the other. 

“Fuck, Javi, I’ve always wanted this,” Terry babbled, hips stuttering as she tried to keep up with the practised movement of his fingers. “ _Fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK_!” She came again, groaning low and slow in her chest. She found the strength to heave herself up to bite down on his neck as she spasmed. 

While not inside her, Terry could feel Javier’s hips jerk and his cock _twitch_ in response. “You’re doing so good, baby. _You’re so good for me_ , Teresa.” She moaned louder, begging for him to say more.

He acquiesced: “You’re so _fucking_ gorgeous coming around my fingers, Teresa. I can’t wait to be inside you,” She throbbed in response. “I know -- I _know_ you can’t wait too.” His voice broke. 

Javier’s fingers knocked under her chin, making sure that she made eye contact with him. 

Terry could see how blown out his pupils were, how _swollen_ his lips were from her. She could feel his hands trembling and Terry grabbed onto them, holding them against her mouth. “It’s okay, Javi.” 

Being naked always brought along with it a literal and symbolic sense of _baring_ her body to the world. In the case of sex, it meant letting someone see her in the most vulnerable an _intimate_ of moments. Terry couldn’t hide away from the gaze of her partner -- couldn’t hide away the parts she was most insecure about, the scars and marks and imperfections that made up who she was. 

With age, Terry had stopped caring so much about those details; the details that used to mean she could never fully _give_ herself into the act.

It was so _natural_ to let Javier in. She and Javi had _years_ of partnership. The feelings of trust and respect and _affection_ that developed from that time were easily translated into _now_ , being together like this. 

Terry wanted him to know that her heart ached just as much as his.

There was a stretch and a burn when his cock finally sunk into her. But Javier waited as she adjusted to his thickness, letting her control the pace. His hand brushed over her hair, holding it away from her face, and Terry smiled up at him. 

He took up her entire vision and Javier was one of the most perfect sights she had witnessed. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes and she quickly scrambled for words when Javier’s face morphed into distress. 

“No, no, it’s okay. I’m just---” She peered up at him, rubbing her hands up and over his shoulders. “I just can’t believe we’re here.” 

_Finally_ , Terry wanted to scream out. _Finally, we get to have each other the way we’ve always wanted to_. A tear escaped and Javier swiped it away, tenderly holding himself there until she nodded.

He started to move and Terry saw _stars_. She gasped out and Javier responded with his own low groan, drawing up slick-covered fingers to his mouth for a taste. She watched with wide-eyes as he closed his -- savouring the flavour, tongue peaking out so that Terry could see it travel around and _between_ his fingers to cover every square inch of skin. 

She was _obsessed_ with him. 

When Javier opened his eyes once again, Terry took advantage of his hazy expression by shoving against his shoulders. He slipped out of her but Terry quickly settled back in his lap, canting her hips upwards to seek him out. 

At this angle, she could watch as his cock disappeared into her once again. Mesmerised by the sight, Terry reached down to trace against the part of his length _just visible_ to her. His cock throbbed under her touch and their gasps were synchronous. 

The sound of their skin slapping made her rock into him, _harder_. Terry didn’t bother muffling her sobs as the new angle put her right on the edge. 

“F-f- _fuck._ ” Terry took pride in making him stutter. “Jesus _Christ_ , Teresa. You’re taking me so fucking well, _mi_ \--” He broke off with a high whimper and he clutched at her back and hip desperately, nails raking down her spine. “I’m not going to last.” 

“ _Javi_ ,” She pressed her forehead down onto his, looking right into his eyes. Terry kept her pace. “Come for me.” 

He did with a drawn-out _moan_ , thighs flexing underneath her as he came. With experienced hands, Terry brought herself over the edge by quickly rubbing on her clit, folding herself into Javi as she hit her high. 

She kept herself there, tucked into him until Javier shifted her head _just that little bit_ to kiss her. He was soft, _gentle_ with her. His hands stayed splayed on her hips as he breathed into her, rubbing patterns along the flesh. 

With nothing to say, Terry leaned back to get a good look at him. While she’d seen him come out of brothels, he hadn’t looked like this. Something primal rose up in her at the sight of his messed up hair, the bruises littering the column of his throat, and the leftover slickness evident in his moustache. 

Javier assessed her too: reddening fingerprints left along bare skin, the shifting of her hips as she tried to settle the ache between her thighs, the heaving of her chest as she tried to catch her breath. 

“Hi,” Terry whispered. 

“Hi Teresa,” Javier murmured in return, curling a strand of her hair around a finger. 

They stayed there, on the couch, basking in one another’s glory. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sweating -- mostly from the stress of writing this out. Okay, that's a massive exaggeration but there are some partial truths there! This is not only my first time writing long and explicit smut, but also the first time where I've written a slow-burn. I would love to hear any thoughts/feedback/screaming/constructive feedback that you have !!
> 
> I'm so happy that Terry and Javier are finally *here*. That's all I have to say. I hope you're all having a great weekend ❤️
> 
> Fun facts
> 
> 1) Arepas are a type of flat cornmeal/maize flour bread, usually deep-fried. You can get arepas filled with egg, cheese, and meat -- just depends on your preference and where you buy them. It's historically significant and extremely popular in Colombia and Venezuela; there is archaeological evidence of arepas in those countries prior to European colonialism. 
> 
> 2) Steve has canonically shit coffee. 
> 
> 3) A great example of a paradigm shift is moving away from a geocentric to the heliocentric model of the solar system. 
> 
> Spanish-English translations
> 
> No hay que ahogarse en un vaso de agua = literally translates to "it isn't necessary to drown oneself in a glass of water"; Spanish equivalent of "don't make a mountain out of a molehill"


	15. Fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Terry sorts some details out with Javier before shit hits the fan -- again. 
> 
> *******
> 
> Wow! The response to the last chapter was amazing. It was fantastic to see everyone's reactions to Terry and Javi getting together and I really appreciate all your thoughtful comments and general love for this story. 
> 
> I want to thank everyone who's reading this story !! Seeing any form of engagement, whether that's comments/kudos/messages/the hits number going up, is so so heartwarming. I finished up this chapter sooner than I thought so I decided to get it to you all a little earlier than usual! Hope you enjoy ❤️

**1991  
** **Colombia**

“I want to do something,” Javi whispers in between sucking on her throat. Terry feels sharp stings; the skin will bruise but she’s past the point of caring. “I want to eat you out.” 

Her thighs flex underneath him, and she knows he felt it because Javier moves away to _grin_ at her. “Shut up,” She mumbles. “Otherwise I’m going to leave this bed.” 

“No, you’re not.” He says it so matter-of-factly that Terry reaches up to tug on his earlobe. Javier swats her hand away. “Come on, _baby_.” 

Something unfurls in her core and _throbs_ at the endearment. Javi _knows_ the effect that it has on her: “That’s just cruel.” 

“I’m sure you can find a way to forgive me,” He murmurs, before starting to mouth down her body. His tongue creeps out to lick around her breasts and Terry’s breath _hitches_ when he captures a nipple in between his teeth.

Javier’s mouth moves expertly, _adoringly_ , caressing her body in a particular rhythm that makes her _sing_ for him. 

When he reaches her pelvis, Javier grabs under her bottom to help sling her legs over his shoulders. Shuffling, he moves to rest in between her thighs. Javi kneads, biting down on the flesh of her inner thigh, and Terry catches his eye when he looks up. 

She can tell that Javier wants her to watch his _every_ move. 

His fingers spread her apart and Terry notices his eyes go dark, _feasting_ on the sight of her unfurled for him. “Javi --” She tries to plead but is cut off by her own _moan_ as his tongue swipes from bottom to top, the edge catching on her clit. 

Terry feels the vibration throughout her _entire body_ when he moans, and her hips instinctually buck upwards to seek him out. “Feel that good already, baby?” His breath tickles and Terry resists the urge to snap her legs shut. “Come on, Teresa, use your words. You were _so_ _good_ for me last night.” 

“ _Fuck_ ,” She whimpers, reaching down to fist a hand in his hair. When his moan reverberates through her core again, she laughs despite teetering on the edge of pain-laced pleasure. “Don’t tease me, Javi -- _please_.” 

If Javier was a God, he’d be a merciful one, because he _devours_ her.

Terry’s thighs wrap tighter around his shoulders, drawing him in. Javier dips his tongue into her entrance, pulsating, and Terry _arches_ off the bed. 

When his lips move up to her clit, Terry struggles to keep her hips from stuttering. “Stay there. _Stay there,_ ” She mumbles, and Javier does as he is told. “ _Please!_ ” Terry whines and Javier releases her swollen nub to drag her attention back to him -- as if it weren't already there. 

“Look at me.” He commands. Javier's resting just against her pubic bone, thumb strumming circles around her clit. She can see his lips and moustache _smeared_ with her slick and Terry feels lightheaded, creeping towards the edge, 

Javier can feel her twitching, _shifting_ , simultaneously running away and towards the overwhelming high. He keeps up the pace and uses his other hand to _plunge_ two fingers into her. “You can do it, baby.” 

Terry can’t look away from him. 

When he says, “come”, Terry doesn’t hold back her scream. Both hands are in his hair now, holding him in place as her hips thrust up to meet him. Her entire body _spasms_ and Terry is vaguely aware of Javi’s hips _rolling._

She tugs his hair, one last time, and Javi comes on the sheets. 

She is still twitching when Javi works his way back up her chest. Terry tugs him up so she can swipe her tongue along his lips and into his mouth to chase her own taste. With shaky hands, Terry reaches down to scoop up his come and sticks her finger in her mouth, letting out a quiet moan at the taste. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Javi breathes out, watching her. Terry feels his cock twitch against her thigh.

“I want to do something,” She repeats back his earlier words at her, hand crawling its way down his body to reach his cock. Javier grabs her wrist before Terry can touch him.

He raises an eyebrow, looking smug. “You think I’m done?” 

His thumb flicks her clit and her eyes roll back. 

*******  
  


Terry wakes up plastered against him. Javier's body runs _hot_ and he’s already smoking, so her skin is sticky with sweat. She rolls away from him, seeking out the cooler side of his bed. 

“Sick of me already?” 

“No,” She mumbles, eyes still closed. “I’m hot.” 

“Agreed.” 

Terry looks over her shoulder just in time to see Javi toss his cigarette into the ashtray at his bedside. Leaning over like that, she has an unhindered view of his body in the early morning light and she takes her time to drink him all in. 

His back is long, lean, and Terry wants to trace every scar and groove that lines up on either side of his spine. The muscles shift as he reaches for a glass of water, and Terry can perfectly see the _power_ he holds in his arms when he passes the glass to her. 

The sheets aren’t covering him and so Terry can see his nude form in its entirety. Her gaze dips to his cock, resting heavily against his thigh, before trailing her eyes upwards to rest on his chest. She notes more scars, dark nipples, and the long line of his throat when he _bares_ it to her. 

Terry had spent a lot of time looking at Javi over the years -- just never this _openly_. The freedom to do so feels strange.

She instinctually wipes her own lip in case of drool.

She shuffles back towards him so she can curl up in his side, no longer examining him. “How are you feeling?” Terry asks, a little worried about how _shy_ he seems at the moment. 

“Good.” Javier seems to catch onto her concern and his hand cradles the back of her neck, rubbing along the sides of her throat. “Just a bit --” 

“Overwhelmed?" He doesn’t respond.

Nevertheless, she says: “Me too”. 

He looks at her, carefully, before leaning down to kiss her. His touch is light on her throat and Javier is _slow_ , barely moving his mouth over hers. Terry chases his bottom lip with her teeth, tasting nicotine and stale morning breath; she savours it all.

Javier looks rested but there’s still something _off_ in his expression. “You can talk to me, Javi.” 

He briefly presses his forehead against hers before leaning back. Terry accepts this and just lays herself on his chest, not speaking as he gathers himself together. 

“I don’t want to fuck this up.” His words ring out clearly, and Terry follows the movement of his throat as he swallows, gazing up at the ceiling instead of at her. “I’m thirteen years older than you.” 

It looks like it takes _s_ _o much_ out of him to say the words out loud which is odd to her because Terry hardly thought about the age difference anymore.

When Terry arrived in Colombia, she was twenty-three. She wasn’t vulnerable _because_ of her age on its own; it was her general inexperience that made Terry an easy target. She was lucky to have not gotten anything worse than a few passing comments -- and Terry noticed that, as she got older, fewer remarks were made.

Javi and Steve hadn’t been the type to engage in those behaviours; Javier was flirty and forward but he doesn’t creep his hands up skirts or pursue women when told ‘no’. Terry had always felt safe with him in that regard, even before they became close.

But not all DEA agents were cut from the same cloth as her partners. From conversations with friends, this seemed to be a collective experience amongst the female DEA employees. 

Unconsciously, perhaps, part of the reason why she didn’t pursue a relationship with Javier _years ago_ was because of how young she was. Not because she worried that Javier would take advantage of her; Terry needed the time to grow into herself, personally _and_ professionally. 

Now, at the age of twenty-nine, Terry didn’t find their age difference to be as big of a deal anymore. She was a different person compared to when they first met: more mature, more knowledgeable, less unsure of herself. Less susceptible to falling under the influence of an older man who also happened to be her colleague. 

“I’m almost thirty, Javi. I’m not a child.” She made sure not to sound accusing. 

He did call her _kid_ , all those years ago. At the time, Terry had taken it with a grain of salt: she looked her age when she wasn’t dead on her feet and other agents had teasingly called her _freshmeat_ back in the Seattle office. If Javier called her 'kid' now, she would lose her shit. 

“You’re not.” He agrees, squeezing her hip. “It’s not just the age thing,” Javier licked his lips, trying to find the right words. “I just don’t know what you see in me.” 

“I see my friend.” 

They knew each other more intimately now but Terry didn’t feel any less respect or care or _love_ for him - all that had existed before. First and foremost, Javier was her _friend_. Nothing that had happened in the last day changed that for her. 

Terry would never be able to fully comprehend his fears or self-loathing or misplaced _guilt_ towards her -- but what she could do was remind him of why she stayed. 

“Don’t second guess the way I feel about you, Javi.” She turned his head so he was looking at her. “I’m here if you want to talk.” 

He didn’t say anything but his gaze softened, and Terry pressed closer to kiss him, trying to make him realise what she couldn’t quite say right now: _I love you_. 

Javier hummed against her lips and she knew that he understood: _I love you too_. 

*******

Terry’s back in her clothes from the previous night and leaning against the bathroom door’s frame, watching Javier as he brushes his teeth. The bathroom is still steamy from their shower, and she watches leftover water droplets travel down his spine before disappearing underneath the low-slung towel on his hips. 

It’s stuck on her mind and she can’t leave without bringing it up. “We’re going to have to talk about work.” 

Javier tenses from head to toe and lifts his head to meet her eyes in the mirror. He briefly turns away to spit out toothpaste into the sink; Terry sees that his guard has gone back up. 

She tried not to take it personally. 

“What about it?” 

“Your informants, Javi.” 

They’d already agreed to keep this new relationship a secret between them, although both Terry and Javier nominated the Murphy’s and Robin as three adjacents to the relationship. The secret-keeping wasn’t a big issue in itself considering their work. 

Not that Javier’s informants had ever been a big issue. Despite occasional spikes of _envy_ , Terry had always been okay with Javi’s relationships with local prostitutes whether it was work-related or simply to go chase pleasure with someone else. It got good intel and Terry wasn’t in a position to judge Javier for what he did in his free time. 

In many ways, Javier represented the reality of working in Colombia; that work and personal life inevitably bled into each other until they were one and the same. Steve had that with Olivia, Terry had that Sandoval -- it was an unofficial rite of passage for the three of them. 

What Terry didn’t need was Javi to hide secrets from her. And by putting all their cards on the table now, Terry would save them both a lot of heartache in the future. 

At least, she hoped it would. 

Javier paused. “I can’t get rid of my informants.” 

“I know.”

“But then --” 

“You can pay them. You can go to the brothels and give them money, help support them. But I don’t want to taste another woman on your cock.” Terry knew she was being crude but it was better to make her feelings clear. “I don’t think that’s asking for much.”

“No, it’s not.” He agreed, turning around to face her. Terry could see his earnestness when he added on: “I wouldn’t do that to you.” 

“I don’t want to make it out like I’m better than the woman you sleep with for work, Javi. because I’m not. I just want us to be on the same page.” 

While she and Javier would remain friends, even as the _nature_ of that friendship evolved, it still meant that there were boundaries. It wasn’t fair, for either of them, to lay out those boundaries without saying that they were there. 

She trusted Javier to tell her if anything changed. 

“Okay.” He murmured, pushing himself away from the sink. Terry grasped on the edge of his towel to pull him closer. “Sounds good.” 

He didn’t say anything else, only leant down to kiss her pulse point. 

*******

There was no such thing as a honeymoon period for Terry and Javier.

It wasn’t even a few days later that Terry found herself on a flight to Medellin with both of her partners. “A cease and desist order?” Terry mumbled under her breath, flicking through the file. “Escobar hasn’t even surrendered and they’re already making sure he’s invincible.” 

“You’ve been hogging those papers, Bennett. Toss ‘em over.” 

Terry passed the manila file over to Steve, silent. “What, no smartass response?” Her partner scoffed and clicked his fingers a few times in front of her face. 

She slapped his hand and Steve _hissed_ , drawing back into his seat. “I’m waiting to talk to Carrillo before I make up my mind on this.” 

“What’s there to make your mind up about?” Steve looked as annoyed as she felt, starting to scan over the documents himself. “It’s fucking bullshit.”

The small plane rocked and Terry leaned over Javier to get a view out the window. Based on the time, she figured that they’d be landing in Rionegro within the hour. From that, Terry estimated that the three of them would be seeing Carrillo by 9am at the latest -- having taken the first flight out of Bogota. 

Landing early would give them time to go over all the information again, which was especially important because this intel had only been passed to them on the _airstrip_. Terry was so _sick_ of feeling like the rug had been pulled under her, and this cessation of Search Bloc activity once Escobar was in jail was just another notch in her _fuck-the-US-government_ bedpost. 

Lost in her thoughts, and thinking Javier had dozed off ages ago, Terry smacked her head against the window when he suddenly spoke up.

“Nice view to wake up to.”

Looking down at herself, Terry realised that her current position gave Javier a full view down her shirt. She sat back in her seat, punching Javier’s thigh for good measure. “Why is it that Terrence is more bearable in the morning than the two of you?” 

“You just haven’t had any coffee yet,” Steve replied like it was old news already.

“ _Don’t_ remind me,” Terry groaned, rubbing between her eyes. “I haven’t slept more than 5 hours a night since Christmas.” 

"5 hours is better than the fucking 2 hours I've been getting."

“You said you’ve been better the last few days.” There was Javier, _again_. 

Steve’s head whipped away from the files and Terry could see the _mania_ in his eyes. Inwardly, she cursed at Javier -- but it was almost good enough that her clenched fists were in his view. Out of her peripheral vision, Terry saw Javi’s eyes dart down to look at them.

“ _Oh?_ ” Steve played dumb. “Did she, Javi? Is that just an assumption or am I _unaware_ of something that’s changed ---”

Terry shoved a hand in his face, stopping the monologue. “ _Steve_ ,” She stressed his name, giving him a manic grin of her own. “I’m going to throw you off this goddamn plane if you don’t shut the fuck up.” 

It was too early to deal with this without caffeine thrumming through her veins. Her expression must’ve been sour enough because Steve shut his mouth and went back to the files.

Javier looked too satisfied for his own good. Without any real venom, Terry rolled her eyes at him before deciding that the only way to escape a caffeine-free morning with the two of them was to doze off for the last hour or so of the flight.

Javier squeezed her thigh and her lips turned upwards with no effort.

Two hours later, he passed a cup of coffee to her before the two of them, and Steve, sat down for their meeting with Carrillo. 

Carrillo and Javier had always been similar in their methodology, and Terry figured that’s why their working relationship had been so long-standing and _fruitful_. However, while Javier and the Colonel were willing to utilise every channel available to them, Steve had only strayed over to ' _unofficial means'_ a few times in his career.

Terry had always been the classic middle-man, situating herself halfway in between her partners. But the way things were going for them in Colombia, the idea of vigilante cops didn’t sound so bad to her. Terry didn’t mind fuelling the fire as long as it stayed under control. 

So, the meeting had gone by as such: Carrillo and Javi on one side, now joined by Terry, and Steve still _fixated_ on the idea that vigilantes had no place in their business.

Terry wanted to be there when Escobar got what he deserved but, honestly, she didn’t care if she was standing with the DEA or the CNP or some random fucking Terminators.

“I thought you said you were all in.”

Steve didn’t have much to say in response to Javier’s pointed statement. He was obviously considering his promise, made years earlier, that he’d follow through when it came to putting in the work. Even if he erred on the side of morality-laced caution, Steve wasn’t one to go back on his word.

She wondered whether Steve ever knew what he’d gotten himself into with that promise. In many ways, Terry herself didn’t know what she agreed to until she got _here_. And by the time she had to make more decisions, the choices seemed so _easy._ Terry came to Colombia to bring down the Medellin cartel -- not to turn a blind eye to corrupt cops.

Except, over time, the two activities had come to run concurrently: one couldn’t be done without the other. Maybe Steve had only realised now that the three of them had always been in the grey area, and moral codes were hard to apply consistently. 

Of course, there were limits and there were boundaries. But the lines blurred as the DEA’s priorities _readjusted_ in the face of an increased threat. Terry wondered whether, years in the future, whether she’d just claim that there weren’t any real lines to cross in the first place. The claim sounded familiar -- like the type of government-speak Terry was used to. 

“We’d be happy to provide you with anything we have,” She spoke up, making sure to look nowhere else but at Carrillo. 

Carrillo’s gaze was serious but appreciative. 

_I’m all in_. 

*******

Terry left her wallet in the embassy’s Medellin housing and so she ran back to her room, telling Javi and Steve that she’d meet them at the bar. 

Rifling through her luggage, Terry only stopped when her phone went off -- its shrill tone filling the silence. She’s confused to hear who’s on the other end. “Carrillo?” 

“Bennett,” He greets. “I have something of interest to you.” He’s speaking in Spanish.

Most of the time, especially in the last year, Carrillo only spoke English around her fearing that he was being listened to by corrupt CNP officers. Terry figures that Carrillo is around his team at the moment if he's speaking Spanish. The Search Bloc men are loyal to Carrillo and Carrillo _only_. 

“What is it?” Terry asks. Then she hears the sound of a fist hitting flesh. 

Through the receiver, Terry hears someone moan painfully before cursing. She doesn’t make any noise to show her shock, only folding her lips into a tight line, when she realises that the person being hit is Martinez. 

Carrillo’s voice can’t mask the resounding _crack_ that echoes around wherever he is. “We managed to pick this guy up on the way.”

Carrillo sounds relaxed even with Martinez _s_ _creaming;_ Terry presses the phone tighter against her ear. Carrillo doesn’t say who he and his team were after but Terry doesn’t even think to ask: _two birds, one stone_. 

“I remembered this guy from before,” Carrillo continues. “What do you want done with him?” 

Her throat goes dry and Terry licks her lips. “What?”

“Tell me, Bennett,” Carillo demands and Terry’s vision goes _haywire._ Looking down, her shoes waver in and out focus like she’s suddenly developed vertigo. “We can get rid of him -- right here, right now.” 

Martinez is sobbing. He sounds _pathetic._

An unknown man taunts Martinez because he wet himself, and her former informant only cries louder. What she figures is a punch to the stomach stops Martinez from crying, and Terry hears him choking on his breath instead. All of this is happening through the phone and yet Terry can visualise it like Martinez is right in front of her.

Something _gleeful_ rises up in her chest at his pain because he deserves it -- he _deserves it_ for shooting her, for falling in with the cartel, for killing innocent people. 

But Terry remembers how scared he looked when he shot her. “Let him go,” She ends up saying, heart _pounding_ in her chest. 

If anything, Carrillo is more than pleased with her response. Terry hears him shouting at Martinez: “ _Escobar is not the one who holds your life in their hands_!” 

Carrillo doesn’t say anything more before hanging up.

She feels like she’s _indulged_ Martinez by not letting Search Bloc beat him to death. Terry is under no pretence that Carillo and his team wouldn’t have followed through on that end. But Terry doesn’t see her choice to set him free as _merciful_ \-- and neither will Martinez. 

Because when she told Carrillo to let Martinez go, all Terry could think was: _I want him to live a little longer knowing that I’m coming for him_.

There’s a shot of tequila ready for her when she arrives at the bar and Terry downs it. Steve hollers at her and Javi raises his glass of whiskey in a toast to her efforts. 

Steve’s got his back to them, calling a waiter for more drinks, when Javier leans over to whisper in her ear. “You okay?” 

Terry gives him a tight smile, gritting her teeth against a wave of nausea. “Later _._ ”

When Gustavo Gaviria turns up dead, _later,_ she doesn’t tell Javi about the phone call. 

  
  


*******

Finally seeing Escobar in the flesh is not as satisfying as Terry had imagined. 

In her fantasies, she’d always been standing over him with a gun trained in between his eyes -- just to have a _taste_ of the power and violence he’s wielded over Colombia for the past twenty years. In real life, Terry finds herself watching as Escobar is escorted to his _palace_ from across a fucking field. 

Sandoval towers over Escobar and yet the cartel leader seems so much _bigger_. Even from this distance, Terry can see Escobar’s calm demeanour and casual attitude towards saying goodbye to his family. Her stomach churns when Escobar holds his wrists out to Sandoval like he’s doing the man a _favour_ by going quietly. 

And he is.

Terry realises that Escobar has won and she is complicit in his success.

She wonders how Sandoval can stand being in front of Escobar, practically handing over the keys to his freedom from _real_ justice. A tension headache _bursts_ behind her eyes and Terry wishes she could see Sandoval’s face right now -- only to _prove_ to herself that he is as much physically affected as she is. 

The distance between them is as much real as it is symbolic. 

When Sandoval moves to escort Escobar to the helicopter, Terry refuses to engage any further and tosses the binoculars to Steve. Neither of her partners says anything as she stalks back to the car, content to watch the circus behind tinted windows. 

It’s not long that Escobar is _gone_. 

Steve switches on the car and the presenter only manages to get out the name _Pablo_ before Steve quickly turns the radio off. The rest of the drive back is quiet, save only for the rhythmic sound of cigarette smoke being inhaled and exhaled by all three occupants of the vehicle. 

Terry resolves to go back to her apartment but finds herself unable to be alone. Within the hour, she’s curled up against Javier, simply laying with him in the darkness of his bedroom. 

His hand strokes her hair and Terry wonders how long this facade of peace will last. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline wise, we're almost at the end of Season 1 !! Super exciting stuff ahead and I'm looking forward to getting stuck into Season 2 plotlines -- *especially* Los Pepes, which I think is almost a given considering that this fic is going to span all three seasons haha. 
> 
> I feel like Escobar's time spent in La Catedral is a breaking point for Steve and Javier in the show, and this is certainly going to be the case for Terry. We're going to see her do some morally dubious/straight up morally wrong things as we go through the story, but these will all be things fitting within what we see in the show. So, I hoped you liked this chapter's little tidbit with Martinez -- we haven't seen the last of him, and this is meant to set up what eventually happens to him. 
> 
> As per usual, I would love to hear your thoughts & feelings on anything you got from this chapter. Lots of love to you all and I'll see you back here with a new chapter later this week !! 
> 
> A quick note: I'm going to fix up a few formatting things on old chapters so if you get any random/additional notifs, that's why!
> 
> Fun facts: 
> 
> 1) 'The Terminator' was released in 1984! This is a super sick movie and I would highly recommend if you like action or just want to see a cult classic film. I used this reference to indicate that Terry just wants this whole nightmare to be over no matter who kickstarts Escobar's demise. This will be important in dealing with Javi later on. 
> 
> 2) Episode 1x8 shows that Gustavo Gaviria is killed, immediately setting off the Colombian government to repeal the extradition treaty and, therefore, facilitate Escobar's 'surrender' to the Colombian government. In real life, Gustavo is killed in August 1990 and Escobar only surrenders in June 1991; what the show sets out to be a chain of events that occurs in the span of a week or two actually happened over 10 months.


	16. Sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Terry has a tough chat with Connie, and the trio tries to get their hands on intel that could ruin Escobar.
> 
> Alternative title: marriage, pigeon shooting, tunnels, and sex. 
> 
> *******
> 
> I hope everyone is having or has had a wonderful weekend! Thank you for all the engagement with the last chapter -- your comments, kudos, and general readership are so amazing and I will NEVER get over the fact that people like this story so much. I appreciate all your kindness and I can't articulate how grateful I am for your support ❤️

**1991  
** **Bogota, Colombia**

  
“Has Steve seemed off to you, lately?”

Terry stopped bouncing Olivia in her arms. 

Connie looked more troubled than Terry had ever seen her before, more so then when Connie agreed to smuggle Elisa out of Bogota almost two years ago. The older woman was frowning, fingers running aimlessly along the edge of the table; there was something _stilted_ about her voice like Connie had barely wrestled control over nervous shakes. 

All around them, midday Bogota traffic passed them by. Connie was more familiar with the area around their housing and so most of the cafe patrons were other expats -- mostly American but Terry could overhear a Peruvian couple a few tables over. Listening in, the couple was arguing about the price of the coffee and Terry was inclined to agree, taking her time finishing her overpriced juice. 

Escobar had been in prison for a few months, now, and Bogota felt like an entirely different city. People no longer had to stress that a car bomb was going to go off at any second now that the top narco-terrorist was under lock and key. Flowers bloomed, children ran around, and Terry had even spotted her neighbours dancing in the street one evening. 

Still, the darkness hadn’t entirely dissipated -- it was just hidden a whole lot better. 

Terry had been at Robin’s house when she got the call about a shootout at La Dispensaria. It was only when Terry got to the bar that she found out Steve had made the call to kill Poison and Lizardo on sight. Although Search Bloc fired the shots, Steve was the man behind the trigger. She didn’t think it was a bad call killing Poison and Lizardo was probably the best decision they’d made since Escobar was sent off to prison. Knocking two of his best sicarios off the chessboard was a _win_.

There was only one real issue: what the US government and Search Bloc seemed to have in common was a nonchalance towards _collateral damage_. Terry had gazed down at a young woman lying on the sidewalk, her brains blown out, and wondered whether that girl went out just to have a nice evening with friends. She thought about Olivia's birth month and, while she hadn’t asked him outright, Terry figured that Steve might’ve thought about her too when he saw that girl. 

Terry tried to go for a diplomatic response to Connie’s question. “I’m sure you know how work’s been.” 

“Steve hasn’t talked to me about anything, lately. That’s the problem.”

_Shit._

Marriage was an entirely different ball-game. She wasn’t the best person to be giving out advice considering that Terry had never been married _and_ she’d preemptively rejected Sandoval’s proposal by breaking up with him. Steve was her friend -- _Connie_ was her friend. But Terry didn’t know how she felt being a third-wheel to their marital problems. 

“He’s so _good_ with Olivia, you know?” Connie stared off into the distance and Terry was startled by the _tears_ forming in the other woman’s eyes. “I know he loves her. I know he loves me. But I just feel so _alone_ here.” 

As if suddenly aware of her mother’s distress, Olivia began to squirm in Terry’s lap and cry out for Connie. Hearing her daughter, Connie held out her arms; Terry watched as she buried her face in Olivia’s hair, shoulders starting to shake with suppressed sobs.

Terry immediately reached over to grasp Connie’s hand, trying to support her friend even as she struggled to find the words to comfort her. “It’s _okay_ , Connie.” 

Connie’s head shot up and she _glowered_ at Terry. “No, it’s not!” Her shout echoed in the cafe and other patrons immediately turned towards them, eager to watch the fallout. 

Feeling all eyes were on her, Connie’s face crumpled as she sobbed out an apology to Terry. Terry didn’t bother looking at the other customers, knowing that ignoring them was the best course of action. She patted Connie’s hand softly, knowing that Connie's harshness wasn’t directed at _her._

“I’m the _worst_.” 

“You’re not the worst. And you’re right.” She didn’t know whether agreeing with Connie would make its way back to Steve, but it didn’t feel right to tell Connie that her frustration was unfounded. “You should really talk to Steve about this.”

“Terry, he held a random man at _gunpoint._ How the hell am I supposed to reason with him?” Connie questioned shrilly. “I’m just -- I don’t know if I want to _be_ _here_ anymore.”

Olivia began to cry at the exact moment Terry’s heart dropped. Connie became distracted by trying to soothe Olivia and Terry was left to just stare _blankly_ at her friend. Divorce wasn’t uncommon amongst DEA agents -- Terry would even go as far as to say that it was normalised within the agency. Overseas postings were hard enough but the additional stress of living in a violent country was enough to split couples and families apart. 

Terry couldn’t blame Connie for wanting to leave Colombia. But to get _divorced_? She wasn’t sure that she could sit here and not ask the question. “Connie,” She lowered her voice, almost afraid of speaking the words aloud. “Are you thinking of leaving Steve?” 

Connie’s expression was nothing short of confused, as if unable to understand how Terry had come to that conclusion _._ “No! God, no. Not like that. We’d _all_ be leaving Colombia.” 

Terry’s first thought was that Connie had no idea who she was married to. Her second thought was that maybe she should just keep her mouth shut. What fell out was: “There’s no way in hell that Steve will leave until Escobar’s six feet under.” 

She was a fucking hypocrite for thinking it wasn’t her place to speak on their marriage when she came out with _that_ response. The other woman's face dropped and Terry immediately wanted to shove the words back down her own throat. 

Connie stood up and started to collect her things, Olivia hanging off her hip. Terry tried to scramble for a better response: “Wait, Connie -- I didn’t mean that. Please don’t leave.” 

“No, you did.” Connie didn’t look at her. “I don’t know what I was expecting you to say.” 

Steve, Javi, and Terry worked well together because they all agreed on Escobar’s death as an endpoint for their work. Only when the Medellin cartel was decimated would all the hours, months, _years_ spent in Colombia be worth it. Part of Terry didn’t feel bad for being straight with Connie. But part of her also hated the fact that she seemed to have made a habit of practising honesty only when it served to hurt others. 

“You’re just like him.” Connie looked sad as she spoke. “When are you going to realise that what you’ve done is enough, Terry? You can move on.” 

_It’s not enough. It’s not even close. If you knew_ \--- “I’m sorry.” 

Connie leaned down to press a fleeting kiss on her cheek. “We’ll talk later, Terry.” 

Terry watched Connie walk away with slumped shoulders. 

  
  


*******  
  


“Where’d you get this?” 

“Doesn’t matter. A fucking _soccer field?_ ” She taps a finger against the photo as if the massive green space wasn’t obvious to the eye. “You’ve gotta give us something to work with.” 

Terry finds some satisfaction in lording Carrillo’s parting gift over the colleagues she despises the most.

Carrillo had done the DEA a favour in providing the aerial shots showing Escobar living a life of _luxury_ in his new home. None of them had ever thought Escobar’s prison would be an actual _punishment_ but neither did the US government have any concrete evidence to support such a claim. These photographs were as close to the prison as both the DEA and CIA had gotten -- _if_ the CIA was telling the truth about their no-air-reconnaissance mandate. 

Terry was inclined to believe that the CIA could find loopholes around anything if given the right incentive. She rolled her shoulders back, unwavering, even when the CIA agent stared her down. “We’ve got our hands tied here.” 

“Come on, James -- we all know that’s _bullshit_.”

“I don’t appreciate your _tone_ , Agent Bennett.” 

“Well, I don’t appreciate your lack of _concern_.” 

Steve broke up the catfight by pushing in between Terry and the CIA agent. “They’re not using phones,” He says, shifting the aerial photo for all of them in the room to view. His forefinger rests on an innocuous building that Terry had figured was just a small storage space of some kind. “I could spot a coop a mile away.”

 _Bingo_. 

While the Ambassador wasn’t happy with how Martinez had been dealt with, Noonan had stopped giving Terry such a hard time since she’d been shot. Getting injured on the field was better punishment than being transferred, although the Ambassador might’ve hoped Terry would have been sitting on the sidelines longer than she actually did. 

James crossed his arms over his chest and Terry resisted the childish urge to stick out her tongue at him. His gaze wavers between her and her partners as if drinking the trio all in for the first time. “You’re playing with fire if Noonan finds out.” 

“What Noonan doesn’t know won’t hurt her.” The statement tasted _treasonous_ on her tongue but that was the game they played. If anything, her open defiance made James look at her a _little_ more respectful than before. Sharing intel helped the three of them make their trip to La Catedral unnoticed.

Steve brought the rifle, Javier supplied the vehicle, and Terry snagged a few binoculars from one of the DEA's many storage rooms. 

Terry doesn’t know anything about shooting birds but she knows that if they fuck up, they can’t blame the weather. It’s a clear day and the sun isn’t shining in their eyes, and a pigeon is undoubtedly going to fly out. If anything or _anyone_ is going to be blamed, Terry figures it’ll be Javi’s shit eyesight.

She can see Javier squinting behind the binoculars, trying to focus his sight. “Trying to look for the moon?” She teases. 

“No.” He cuts his sentence short to show he’s not amused. Terry looks over at Steve and they both roll their eyes, which doesn’t go unnoticed by their partner. “What?”

“You’re as blind as a bat. Give me those.” Steve swaps the binoculars for his cup of coffee and proceeds to inspect the pigeon coop. “We’re going to get nowhere with your shit eyesight.” 

“Did you tell him something?” Javier whispers at her, bringing the cup up to take a sip. Terry watches and waits for him to realise that he’s been given Steve’s signature battery acid and doesn’t bother hiding her smile when Javier gives her an affronted look, pouring the liquid out into the grass.

“No. But now I know that you’re blind _for sure_ if you didn’t see Steve walk out with the thermos this morning."

Steve perks up from behind the binoculars: “Probably still distracted by whatever you kids were up to this morning."

Terry reaches over to smack the upside of his head. “Eyes on the prize, Murphy.”

She thinks about what Javier’s face looked like, in the hazy steam of the shower, when he came inside her. Terry brings her binoculars up to eye-level in an attempt to focus. 

“Oh, one’s goin’!” Steve calls out. 

Javier aims the rifle upwards. “I got it.”

Terry didn’t need to see Javier miss all three shots to realise that, despite being an excellent handler on the field, he also had no experience with shooting birds. “That’s a fast fucking pigeon.” 

“You’re proving our point about the whole glasses thing.” Terry doesn’t look away from the pigeon coop but she can feel Javi’s eyes _burning_ into the back of her skull. Her two partners start to bicker in the background and Terry wonders whether God would consider just smiting her on the spot to put her out of her misery. 

“You trying to say I’m a lousy shot?”

“Yes, I’m saying you’re a lousy shot. You’re a shit shot, Javi.” Steve cocked the rifle, inspecting the barrel.

A bird leaves the coop and Terry tightens her grip. “There!” 

Javier seems to have a good handle on watching the pigeon so she lowers her binoculars, watching Steve aim. Even with Javier egging him on besides him, Steve takes his time: cool, calm, and collected. He breathes slow and steady, and Terry can see him imagining the bird dead on the ground before he even pulls the trigger. 

A dull thud is _barely_ audible as the pigeon drops from the sky. 

“Nice shot!” She calls out, and Steve takes a second to shoot her a self-satisfied grin. 

“I know. Ever been duck huntin’?” 

“Steve, I grew up in New Haven. You think I was around guns growing up?” There’s nothing funnier to her than imagining her parents waving around rifles and she snorts. “They probably started rolling in their graves as soon as I got my license.” 

“You said you went on holiday to the South a lot.” 

“Not to go _shooting_ , Steve, jesus. Ever heard of regular sight-seeing?” 

Steve still looks confused and now she's wondering what the hell _he_ did growing up. Terry shouldn’t be surprised if Steve did spend his summer’s duck hunting or on the shooting range; after all, he was born in Tennessee. On the other hand, she grew up in a solidly East-coast middle-class family with her primary residence being an Ivy-league college.

So, a whole lot less time spent on guns in favour of helping her parents scout antique bookstores for good research material.

Steve walks off towards the bird and it’s only Terry that hears Javi’s response: “No, I’ve not been duck hunting, you fucking hillbilly.” 

“I thought that’d be a common Texan pastime.”

Terry yelps when Javier’s hand slaps her on the ass, although he keeps his hand there in an attempt to soothe the sting. “It’s all about riding, baby. But you know enough about that, don’t you?” 

“You two are _useless_! And disgusting.” Steve calls from up ahead, and Javier releases her so that she can try to look _dignified_ when walking over, even with one asscheek on fire. 

“Got anything?” She asks when Steve flips over the pigeon, unfurling the note. He pauses and Terry feels _triumphant_ in the most childish way when she looks over his shoulder. 

“It’s in Spanish,” He mumbles and Terry cups a hand around her ear. 

“Sorry, what was that?”

Terry was sure that, if he’d remembered to bring his notebook, Steve would’ve rather translated the note _word by word_ instead of admitting that his reading comprehension wasn’t up to par. Instead, all he can do is give her a flat look. “I said --” 

Javier snatches the note before Terry and Steve manage to tear it into pieces. “Delivery due with El Paisa in the tunnel,” He reads out, and all three of them turn to look back at the prison. 

“Motherfucker!” Steve curses. 

Terry spits on the ground. 

  
  


*******

Connie greeted Terry with the usual hug and kiss on the cheek but the gesture was _stiff_. Steve was oblivious to its awkwardness which clued Terry into the fact that Connie hadn’t said _anything_ to him regarding what she’d talked about with Terry. Javier, as per usual, picked up on the mood right away.

He looked questioningly at Terry but didn’t say anything, only reached over to squeeze her thigh under the table when they sat down. She laced her fingers through his, keeping his hand pressed against her as she took comfort in his warmth. Terry only let go when Steve started to pass over the only aerial shots of La Catedral that they had, along with copies of the note they’d gotten from the pigeon. 

Terry didn’t know whether Escobar was a genius or extremely paranoid. Nevertheless, he had some smarts to have picked the perfect place to build his palace. The prison was a sprawling complex that had the advantage of being built into the mountains, situated steep enough that Escobar had a perfect view down to Envigado. 

The location was perfect for two reasons and both were annoying. 

Firstly, it meant that he could still see his family. For all his sleeping around, Escobar was loyal to his mother, his wife, and his children. Terry didn’t doubt that they had all made trips to the prison to see the man of the house. Wherever Pablo was, his family was close by. And they couldn’t even use the family against him even if they wanted to: all immediate family members were off-limits for the government.

Carrillo had gotten _lucky_ with the timing of Gustavo’s death.

Secondly, the location meant that Escobar could see anyone coming from _miles_ away. `whoever decided to travel to the complex and breach the 3km radius was unhidden from his view. In the case of an attack, Escobar would have ample time to plan out a response without wondering if the enemy was suddenly going to be on top of him. In essence, La Catedral was Escobar’s own Dien Bien Phu and Terry had a hard time not thinking of herself as the French in that scenario. 

It had been _hours_ and the three of them had been reviewing the same five photographs over and _over_ again. Terry felt like she was running around like a headless chicken trying to find any clues on who El Paisa was and where the deliveries were coming from. 

“For all we know, he could have his sicarios crawling through a mile-long tunnel just to bring him a few goodies,” Terry mumbled into her hand, leaning on her elbow as she peered down at the photos. “A regular old John McClane.”

“McClane was in a vent.”

“No _shit,_ Steve. You got any better ideas you want to share with the group?” Steve glared at her and Terry ignored the look in favour of continuing to flip through the little evidence they had.

Shooting down that pigeon had given them one of their biggest breaks of the year. However, doing so without the Ambassador’s knowledge meant that the three of them were conducting all of the subsequent investigations without the extra resources that _would_ be available if Noonan knew. 

Not that Terry thought the Ambassador would be supportive of their actions, considering Noonan seemed to be taking more of a conservative stance as of late. Noonan, in conjunction with Gaviria’s acquiescence, made Terry feel like throttling herself. 

It _sucked_ to be on the losing side and Terry knew that’s exactly where the three of them were --- scrambling for even just a _crumb_ of a clue to send them in the right direction. The note they got from the pigeon was good but it didn’t mean anything if they couldn’t figure out where the hell the tunnel was. The CIA said there wasn’t anything to suggest the cartel had been able to build a tunnel under the prison.

At this point, she was inclined to believe that the cartel had outsmarted them -- _again._

Terry stood up and stretched, needing to get away for a moment. “I’m gonna get a drink.” 

Spying the unopened beer in the fridge, Terry cracked it on the side of the counter and guzzled half of it down in one go, stomach _churning_ as the beer settled. For a moment, Terry closed her eyes and tried to imagine herself in a world where she wasn’t so fucking tired. 

“You okay?”

She jumped at the sudden sound of Connie’s voice, and Terry whipped around to see Connie giving her a concerned look. Terry wiped her mouth with the back of her free hand, the other clutching tighter to the neck of the beer bottle.

“All good.” 

Connie wrung her hands together and Terry followed the movement, honing in on where she started to twist her wedding band around. Seemingly aware of Terry’s point of focus, Connie shifted to hold her hands behind her back and out of sight.

“Look, Terry, I don’t expect you to understand what it’s like for me. Seeing you guys out there, from the outside, watching you running around in circles --” 

Terry knew that Connie was trying to be supportive and _knew_ that the three of them didn’t look like they were getting anywhere, but it stung to have it pointed out so blatantly by someone who wouldn’t ever understand. Connie and Steve may be married but Terry realised that Connie was only _just_ figuring out what her husband was capable of and what his job called for. 

For most people, work wasn’t their entire life, and yet it was for those who found themselves working for the US government in Colombia. Terry couldn’t imagine being in Connie’s position where she didn’t know what her husband was up to. At the same time, Terry felt _envious_ that her friend had some kind of demarcation line between her personal life and her work. 

Terry reminded herself that maybe she took her own life for granted. Work had led her to good people: Javi, Steve, Connie, Robin, even Sandoval. But there was always a residual _fear,_ sitting in the back of her mind, that leaving this job would mean leaving everything else that had come from it. 

Including all her loved ones. 

“I just don’t want you guys to _lose_ yourself to work--” 

Terry downed the rest of the bottle before interrupting her friend. “Now’s not a good time, Connie,” She tossed the bottle into the sink and the sound of the glass reverberating on metal was loud, causing Connie to flinch away from it.

Terry swallowed an apology. “I just... _can’t_ hear it from you, okay?” 

One day, Terry might find the words to explain how she felt to Connie. About how, for the last eight years, it felt like Escobar had transformed from a weight on her shoulders to a stain on her _soul_. Terry knew that she was a good friend, a good godmother, a good coworker, but was she unrecognisable now from who she was _before_? Had she changed herself in more destructive ways than Terry had ever imagined was possible? 

Connie insinuated that Terry, Steve, and Javi would lose themselves if they couldn’t learn to let go. But Terry couldn’t remember when she started to feel like she’d fallen into the rabbit hole -- except that, because it’d been so long, Terry had forgotten about her desire to reach Wonderland. 

Maybe she didn’t mean it like that. But Connie’s statement was close enough to Terry’s inner thoughts that she found it jarring to hear; Terry didn’t _want_ to hear her suspicions confirmed by someone else. 

Terry left the kitchen before she blurted out anything else. 

Javier must’ve seen the flat look on her face because, when Terry was about to sit back in her seat, he was already reaching for the cigarette that sat behind his ear. “I’m calling it a night.” 

She grabbed his free hand as it swung back towards her, squeezing before letting go. “Agreed,” Terry mumbled, shuffling back to make room for Javier as he stood up. 

Connie came to clean the table and Terry started to collect the plates together, pushing them closer to Connie so that she didn’t have to reach so far to get them. Despite their tense conversation, Connie gave her a small smile and Terry returned the gesture. 

“The only thing I can see in all of them is this truck.” Just like that, Connie had cracked the clue. Terry fumbled for the images that Connie pointed to and held them up in front of her. In every single photograph, the same truck was travelling up to the prison. 

_It was right in front of their fucking eyes;_ there was never an underground tunnel. What did Escobar need tunnels for when everyone in Medellin was willing to do his dirty work right in plain sight? 

“7am work for you?” 

Steve’s voice broke Terry from her stupor and, out of sight, she clutched the back of Javi’s leather jacket to help find her footing. “Yeah,” She breathed out, twisting the material in her grip. “We’ll be there.” 

As soon as the door clicked shut behind them, Javier was crowding her up the stairs towards her apartment. She barely unlocked the front door before Javier dragged her in with a hand loosely wrapped around her throat, his other grabbing at her hip to keep Terry pressed against him.

“Javi,” She laughed in between kisses, angling her head away from his. Javier persisted, trailing his mouth along her jawline and mouthing at the delicate skin under her chin. “ _Javi_.”

“Want me to stop?” He pulled away enough that his words just brushed against her skin. She shivered at the motion and wrapped her arms around him, tighter, holding onto him as desperately as he was to her. 

“No!” Javier bit down on the spot just behind her ear and her eyes rolled back. “ _Javi,_ what’s gotten into you?” 

“We’ve almost got him by the _balls_ , Terry--”

“Don’t talk about Escobar’s balls.” 

“We just need to get the proof and it’s fucking over for him.”

There was excitement in his eyes -- not just for her but for the potential that, in a few weeks, they could be free of Escobar. While Javier was typically the cynic of the trio, Terry knew he was just as tired as she and Steve were; after all, he’d been in Colombia the longest. If they proved Escobar was violating the terms of his sentence, he could be rotting in a _real prison_ within a few months. Even better, someone might get the opportunity to shoot him in the head as soon as Escobar was no longer protected by high walls, barbed wire, and men who would die for him. 

“Maybe we can go on a little vacation,” Javier seemed to like the sound of that because of the _furious_ way in which he captured her mouth. “We --” Terry whimpered when his teeth caught her bottom lip and struggled to continue. “We don’t even have to tell anyone. We can just _go_ and it’ll just be the two of us and --” 

Javier’s hand tightened around her throat, ever so lightly, and he looked _heady_ as a soft moan escaped her. “Yeah, baby, that sounds good.” 

It sounded like a far off daydream but Terry couldn’t help but _revel_ in the idea. Neither could Javier, it seemed, who started to walk her back towards her bedroom with a hand still around her neck and the other reaching down to graze the buttons of her jeans. 

He had just dipped his fingers into the waistband when Terry shoved him onto the edge of the bed. With him sitting down, Terry quickly rearranged herself so that she was on her knees in front of him. Her hands spread over his denim-clad thighs, palming his cock when her fingertips reached for him. 

Javier lifted his hips off so she could push down his jeans under his ass-- _just enough_ so that his cock sprung free of its confinement. Terry murmured _thanks_ when Javi grabbed a fistful of her hair to pull back from her face.

“Is this okay?” She checked in and only thumbed over the head of his cock when Javi nodded. 

She licked from balls to shaft and Javier groaned, his fingers tightening in her hair. But he talked, unable to stop himself from continuing their little fantasy. “You have no fucking idea how much I want to take you out of here, Terry. Take you somewhere nice --” His breath hitched in his throat when Terry took the head of his cock into her mouth. “-- _anywhere_ you fucking want.” 

She couldn’t keep his thick length down her throat for long but Terry hummed as he sat against her tongue, watching as Javier threw his head back and _gr_ _oaned_ . For someone normally so reserved, so _intent_ with his words, he enjoyed letting go like this. He _sang_ for her and Terry couldn’t help the pride that swelled in her at being able to bring so much pleasure to him.

With a free hand, she traced along her torso to slide under her jeans and into her underwear. At this angle, it was awkward, but Terry was still able to slip two digits into herself and whimpered around his cock as she did so. Needing to relax her mouth, Terry released him but used her other hand to pump his cock.

She licked up the precome spilling down her palms, the noise of her hand and her mouth sounding _filthy_. “What else?” 

Javier seemed incapable of looking anywhere but at her. Terry saw his gaze drop to where she was fingering herself and his mouth dropped open. “Oh _fuck_ ,” He whimpered. 

Not breaking her rhythm, Terry removed her fingers and dragged her slick up his chest and into his mouth. “What do you want, Javi?” She asked, enjoying the way Javier immediately ran his lips and tongues over her fingertips to taste her. “Tell me.” 

She moved her hand away and back to where she needed them, trembling when her thumb brushed along her clit. Terry kept it there, rubbing herself in tandem to her other hand still fisting his cock. Her breath was coming out faster, now, matching the pace of his. 

Terry shifted forward, bringing his cock back into her mouth. Drool ran down the sides as she relaxed her throat, letting herself _engulf_ his cock with the wet heat of her mouth. She slipped a third finger into her and groaned around him, edging closer to her own relief. “Just you. _Just you_ ,” Javier gasped out. “Fuck, Teresa, I’m going to --” 

He twitched in her mouth and Terry could feel his whole body start to _vibrate_ with his impending release. She didn’t stop moving her mouth up and down his length, using her thumb to press along the vein running on the underside of his cock. Javier tugged on her hair at the same time he came down her throat. 

She swallowed before letting his cock fall from her mouth, dropping her face to rest on his thigh as she moaned through her orgasm. Terry panted against his skin, and Javier folded in on himself to rest his head on top of hers. 

She wondered how long it would take for sex to stop feeling like this with Javier _,_ so _overwhelming_ every single time they found an opportunity to be together like this. 

Terry couldn’t help but laugh even as her thighs still shook, and started to wheeze when she accidentally headbutted his softening cock in a failed attempt to lift her head. “Sorry, sorry,” Terry mumbled as she found the strength in her arms to drag herself up to kiss him. 

Javier was reverent, hands brushing over her breasts and along her sides and trailing every single vertebra of her spine. Sighing into his mouth, Terry let the wave of contentment wash over her as they soothed each other in their post-orgasmic haze. 

_We’re going to be okay._

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I put a bit of cheeky smut in the end because I felt like it and it's a long chapter -- I hope you didn't mind! 
> 
> The pacing of the last two episodes of S1 is something I'm figuring out while writing, as this is where the show timeline starts to get more defined as we move into the events of season 2. For reference, I've covered about 8 years from Chapter 1 to Chapter 16 (1983-1991) while S2 only covers about 18 months. I've been worried that my writing hasn't been detailed enough or the plotline fleshed out so I'm excited to get into S2 where everything is a little more defined. 
> 
> If there are any grammar/spelling/formatting mistakes in this chapter, apologies from me! I'm super tired and my brain is not at full capacity so I'll go over this chapter tomorrow to fix up anything that's there.
> 
> Also, I wanted to put here that I'm accepting requests/prompts/asks on my Tumblr blog. I've answered a writing prompt from a lovely reader last week that was asking about the Terry/Javi relationship from Javier's POV (click here if you want to read). I really enjoyed writing this so feel free to send in anything you'd like to know and I'll get to it! 
> 
> Fun facts for this chapter: 
> 
> 1) I don't believe the CIA officer, played by Richard T Jones, actually has a name in the show. This is strange because he appears in quite a few scenes and thus is deserving of a name. For the sake of this story, I've named him 'James'. If he does actually have a name, please let me know!
> 
> 2) Terry offhandedly mentioning the idea of crawling through a tunnel was a slight reference to El Chapo's 2015 escape. If you've ever seen pictures or videos of this tunnel, it's absolutely insane. I've also begun watching Narcos: Mexico so I wanted to include this in somehow. 
> 
> 3) John McClane is the main character of the 'Die Hard' film series. In the first movie (1988), there's a famous scene where McClane crawls through an air vent. I actually haven't seen the movie (don't @ me) but I've seen the clip and I've watched a lot of Brooklyn Nine-Nine, so I have a repertoire of 'Die Hard' references that only make about 75% sense to me. 
> 
> 4) Dien Bien Phu is a very, very famous city in Vietnam. It was the sight of the Battle of Dien Bien Phu, in which the French colonial forces were defeated by the Vietnamese guerrilla forces in 1954. This was a huge and unprecedented defeat and really set the stage for the development of guerrilla warfare, both in Vietnam later on in the Second Indochina War (or the Vietnam War) and other postcolonial nations. Part of the reason why the French lost was that the guerrilla forces had the high ground and had cut off all road/ground access for the French, which couldn't be resolved even with French air support.


	17. Seventeen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is something ominous lurking on the horizon. 
> 
> *******
> 
> I can't believe this fic is almost at 3000 hits -- that is absolutely insane! Thank you for all the lovely responses to last week's chapter. I am forever appreciative of your kind words, kudos, and general engagement with this story. 
> 
> Hope you're all having a great week!

**1991/92  
** **Colombia**

One of the perks of having worked with Sandoval for so many years was that it was easier to coordinate meetings without Noonan’s knowledge. None of their meetings had to be pre-approved or mediated by middle-men becauseTerry had direct access to Sandoval with just a few words to his secretary. This meeting, in particular, was an opportunity for her and her partners to hand over the photographs they’d obtained of Escobar’s ‘deliveries’ to the prison.

Sandoval was their only route to Gaviria, and so Terry _needed_ for this meeting to go well -- and it had, for the most part. The only issue was that Sandoval’s focus kept flickering between her and Javier. Back and forth, his eyes went between them. At the end of their chat, for a brief moment, he only focused on her and all Terry could see were _questions._

As soon as he saw her looking back, Sandoval averted his gaze, refocusing his attention back on Steve.

She gave an excuse to stay behind when the meeting was over. Even if he was unable to ask her himself, Terry knew that Sandoval wanted answers. 

Terry couldn’t forget that she had shared so much of herself with Sandoval -- and he, her. She knew what he looked like when he was angry or excited, when he was dozing off after sex, when he shared a meal with her that he loved and wanted her to try. Terry knew what Sandoval looked like at work and home and in a suit and nothing. She had been privileged to know him in all those ways. The two of them had always existed in a limbo of knowing and unknowing _,_ of simultaneously being too close and not close enough.

She sat across from Sandoval now and didn’t see a stranger, even if she didn’t see a friend.

“How long have you two been together?” 

His voice was barely above a whisper and yet his words were a _punch_ to the gut. It was stupid to think that she would be able to hide her relationship from Sandoval when they had gone through this dance once before. 

There had only been a handful of weeks between her ending things with Sandoval and then starting a relationship with Javi. Terry didn’t see anything wrong with that but it would be unfair to go on the defensive and accuse Sandoval of having never trusted her, even though the _urge_ to do so was sitting in the back of her throat. Terry couldn’t blame him for looking at her and Javier and wondering whether she’d gone behind his back, especially when they were _right_ in front of him. 

Relationships were complicated, even _after._

Terry keeps her tone low, calm, and open to inspection; she has nothing to hide from him. “Nothing ever happened when we were together, Eduardo.”

She can see his retort resting on his tongue: _if_ _nothing happened, how did you fall in love with him?_ Sandoval restrains himself so fiercely, his body all harsh lines and sharp edges, but he knows that her answers would never be satisfying -- not when he was still in so much grief. 

Time was funny that way, showing how people grieved the end of relationships so differently. Terry had used the following days, weeks, and months to mourn and move on; she let herself embrace something new with someone that she loved so _fucking much_. For Sandoval, he needed space and time from her that he couldn’t get because of work. So, he hadn’t moved on in the same way that Terry had. 

Eventually, he would come to the conclusion that she had: Terry didn’t miss their relationship but she missed _him_. 

The conversation about relationships died but the stress in Sandoval’s body remained, written deep into the lines of his face and thrumming through his veins. Even with these degrees of separation between them, Terry knew him. She _knew_ he wasn’t okay. 

This was the first personal conversation they had since the breakup: no phone calls, no casual chats in his office. She tentatively extended an olive branch in hope that he would be ready to grasp onto it, but also knowing that she’d have to be okay if he decided not to. 

What mattered was that she cared enough about him to try. “Eduardo, are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” Sandoval muttered, folding his arms tight over his chest. “I need to get those photographs to Gaviria and then things will be better.” 

Terry also shared that hope. The images that she and her partners had obtained, albeit without permission, were the breakthrough that both they and Sandoval desperately needed to bring Gaviria over to their side. With the proof that Escobar was violating the terms of his sentence, the public would go insane and Gaviria would have no choice but to make a stand against him. 

Things would be better with Escobar gone -- _truly_ gone. Not the facade of peace that had settled over Bogota even when the streets of Medellin were still painted with motifs of the false prophet; not the deceptive sense of security based on the idea that being in prison had stopped Escobar from expanding his empire. 

These falsehoods protected the narcos from real justice. 

Ultimately, what the photos showed was harmless: lobster and prostitutes and casino games. Government action hinged on whether Gaviria wanted to take a gamble -- and he’d always been the more conservative one, even when Galan was still alive. He’d been so eager to put Escobar away even if it was in a fortress of his design.

Gaviria was both the solution and the problem. There was no guarantee that he wouldn’t just file these photographs away if he was so intent on keeping the peace, however fake it was. Terry would give Gaviria the chance to prove her wrong.

If he didn’t, there were alternative ways to get what she wanted. “Do you think Gaviria will do anything?”

Sandoval fell silent. He knew the answer and, now, so did she.

Terry turned to leave but was stopped by Sandoval’s hand on her arm. He pulled her back -- not so close that they were pressed together but closer than they had been in _months_ . She could see every single open pore and mark and _movement_ of his face as he looked her over, and Sandoval had the same view of her. 

Sandoval knew her just as she knew him. They stood there for a moment, both of them observing the other.

“Be careful, Terry.” 

He said her name softly with so much running underneath the word: pain and grief but also _concern_. She made sure to look him, dead in the eyes, when she responded: “You too.” 

That was the paradox of a broken relationship: there would always be worry and fear for the person once loved. And hope, too, that what they were doing in life was what they wanted and what was _good_ for them. Terry wanted to get rid of Escobar at all costs even if it wasn’t good for her. Sandoval understood that and, instead of stopping her, only wished for her survival.

That was all any one of them could hope for in this line of work: to get through this period of their life unscathed so that they could reap the benefits later in life. 

Sandoval let her go with the hope of seeing her on the other side. 

  
  
  


*******

Her parents had shared cooking duties but they’d often both arrive home tired and wanting to do anything else other than cook. So, Terry had grown up eating a lot of takeaway food but had never learnt to view it as the lazy option. It didn’t matter whether it was pizza or curry or tacos -- her father would always smooth out the best tablecloth, provide the appropriate cutlery, and take all the food out of the containers to serve in her mother's beloved bright-yellow dinnerware set. 

Terry’s not the greatest cook but neither is Javi. She doesn’t feel bad about serving him takeaway for dinner because she makes the effort to nicely plate it all up, just like she had seen as a child. She left the front door ajar and so Javier comes in without much fanfare, and she doesn’t look up to greet him because she’s too busy trying to make the chicken stew sit nicely on the rice. 

“Hi,” Javier presses a kiss to her shoulder and Terry can’t help but lean back into his chest. He doesn’t mind the affection, wrapping his arms around her waist tighter, peering over her shoulder to look at the meal. “Sudado de pollo?” 

She hums in response, turning her head so she can look at him. 

Naturally, Javier was someone who wore his heart on his sleeve and so had put in every effort to rectify that. He had gotten good at hiding his feelings and expressions for someone who _felt_ so much; he had created the perfect mask that had helped him grow into such an excellent DEA agent. It was a characteristic of his that Terry had noticed from the very beginning. 

But the _intensity_ of his emotions meant that the mask sometimes cracked. Whether because of anger or stress or joy, there were moments where Terry could see _everything_ written over his face -- even if those feelings appeared more muted than they were. Right now, he had so much tenderness in his gaze that Terry could feel her cheeks become flushed in response. 

“You said you were craving stew so…” Embarrassed, Terry tries to focus back on her plating. Javier doesn’t comment on her sudden redness and plants another kiss on her shoulder, holding himself there for a few heartbeats.

“Thanks,” He whispers before moving away to get drinks from the fridge. 

There were always moments in a relationship where Terry suddenly felt like an awkward teenager for the most _bizarre reasons_. She’d spread herself in front of Javier, shamelessly and _begging_ for him, but then got embarrassed that she remembered he’d off-handedly mentioned craving sudado de pollo earlier in the week. 

Terry and Javi had shared hundreds, if not thousands, of meals and yet preparing takeaway dinner for the two of them suddenly felt like the most alien thing. It was embarrassing and juvenile but it also reminded Terry of how _new_ this relationship was. She was still adjusting to their new dynamic even if she relished the domesticity of it all. 

Javier tapped her on the hip and Terry turned away from the food, done with her plating. 

She doesn’t get a chance to thank him for the beer when Javi swoops in to kiss her. Terry immediately melts into him, ignoring how the beer sloshes out of the bottle in favour of deepening the kiss. There’s no tongue or wetness or frantic _need_ in the action, only the type of earnestness and desire for closeness that makes her heart _leap_ in her chest, similar to how she’d imagined feeling as a teenager. 

While she may get embarrassed or internally slap herself for immature thoughts, Terry wouldn’t trade those feelings for _anything_ if it meant she’d never get to experience this again. 

They break apart and Terry grins up at him. “What was that for?” 

“Just wanted to say hello,” Javier murmurs, brushing his thumb over her bottom lip. “I didn’t see you after you went off with Sandoval.” 

“Ended up just walking around for a bit,” She kissed his palm and then drew away, rubbing her hands along his arms as she did so. “Needed to think.” 

Javier didn’t end up saying anything more until they were sat down, a forkful of food halfway into her mouth. “You never told me what happened with Sandoval.” 

“Today?” Terry mumbled around a piece of chicken. 

“When you broke up.” 

She paused midway through chewing, not thinking that was where he was going with his questions. Javier still ate forkfuls of stew as he stared at her, waiting for an answer.

It hadn’t been a priority of hers to explain the breakup. She’d talked the most about it to Steve and that was to cover the basics, which Terry thought was enough information for him to fill in the blanks -- and Steve had done so perfectly. On that first night, Javier had blurted out his fear of seeing her walk away with Sandoval: _live out some fucking fantasy life with him_ , he said.

Javier had never brought up since what he thought that fantasy life looked like other than leaving him behind -- in Colombia or removed entirely from her life, Terry didn’t know. She hadn’t realised he still _thought_ about this. 

“I told him I was in love with someone else,” She pointed her fork at him, waving it from head to toe. “Exhibit one out of one.” 

“Not that I’m complaining but there was something that _pushed_ you to do it.”

“Is this dinner or a therapy session, Javi?” Terry put her fork down, folding her hands underneath her chin. While she’d been confused and, honestly, _amused_ to start with, this conversation was devolving into more serious territory incompatible with continuing her meal. “I found an engagement ring.”

She states the secret plainly but like glass shattering, her admittance rang out like the room was devoid of all other noise. Javier closed his eyes, his hand moving upwards to rub at his brow. “ _Shit_ , Teresa. I didn’t know.” 

He wasn’t apologetic for knowing, only _slightly so_ for the way it had come out. 

“You didn’t need to, but I can’t blame you for wanting to know.” She reached across the table for his hand, pulling it away from his face and holding it within her own, tracing along the lines of his palm. “I felt so guilty that I had to tell him I couldn't marry him. It’s the shittiest situation to put someone in -- and that was _before_ I told him I loved someone else.” 

Terry hasn’t tried to articulate her guilt or her _sadness_ about the situation because it didn’t feel necessary to do so. But she perseveres because it’s evident that Javi needs to hear it from her, even if she’s not sure what comfort this is bringing him. “Eduardo didn’t know it was _you_ until today -- maybe earlier, I don’t know. But I thought I was saving him from some pain if I didn’t broadcast the whole ‘failed engagement’ thing to all of our mutual colleagues.” 

“Did you ever imagine marrying him?” 

Javier looks so vulnerable but Terry knows she’s not even seeing half of it. 

He left someone at the altar so Javier knew something about getting _close_ to marriage. He knew what it was like to have that reality in reach if only he changed a few things. He’d have to be okay with remaining in his small town, working in local law enforcement -- _maybe_ getting lucky with a few trips across the border. There was too much compromise on his part to achieve those dreams as Javier would have to set everything _he wanted_ aside. So he left.

That was how he explained it to her, and Terry could empathise. She knew, at the beginning of her and Sandoval’s relationship, that she would end up compromising too much of what _she_ wanted out of life to be with him in the long-term. But she had to remember that Javier hadn’t known that until recently. 

Javier had been on the outside of her and Sandoval’s relationship, only able to see the few parts made available to him. He saw them work well together, laugh together, hold hands under the table. He made assumptions about the late-night visits, the excuses that she used to make to cover up that she was going out to see Sandoval. Those moments stood in stark contrast to the complete lack of other evidence of Sandoval in her life: there were no photographs on the wall, no leftover shirts, no half-full bottles of whiskey left behind on the kitchen counter. 

A year was a lot more than Terry had hoped for with Sandoval. Nevertheless, that year had given Javier the blueprint on which to build his fears upon, even if he now knew that _their_ relationship was so much different from her and Sandoval’s. 

“Imagining something is different from wanting it, and I didn’t want to marry Eduardo. Someone else is going to make him happy the way he deserves.”

Terry releases his hand only to get out of her seat, moving around the table towards him. Javier has already pushed his chair back, shifting sideways so that she can stand in between his thighs, both hands cradling his face. “Tell me what you’re thinking.” 

Javier peers up through dark lashes, his gaze unwavering. “I wouldn’t hate you if you changed your mind.” 

“Changed my mind...?” She trails off as she digests his words for what they are -- _an exit_. Not necessarily a route back to Sandoval but one that would lead her away from him.

Terry immediately falls into the position in which she feels closest to Javier: foreheads and noses pressed together, hands wound tightly in his hair, only seeing _him_ in her vision. “Where is this coming from, Javi?” 

“I don’t want you to get caught up in my mistakes.” He leans back and Terry releases him from her grip, watching him cautiously as he seems to recollect himself.

He picks up the pieces of his mask and glues them back together. Javier’s words are ominous but there is _nothing_ that she can see on his face which suggests he'd done something warranting such a warning. Still, Terry tries to find an answer. “What did you do?” 

“Nothing. I’m just stressed.” He rubs along his moustache and over the lines around his mouth, reaching to the back of his neck to feel the longer strands of his hair. Terry watches all this and sees his stress manifested. “Figuring out what to do about the photos now that Gaviria’s fucked it.” There’s more to it but he won’t be telling her tonight.

“We’ll figure it out,” She murmurs, tracing along the side of his throat. 

Javier captures her hand, pressing sweet kisses along her knuckles, but is otherwise silent. 

  
  


*******

Terry gets a better idea of what Javi might be up to after they meet with Navegante. 

She hasn’t seen Navegante since the end of ‘89 and she didn’t like him then because his help came too easy. As of a week ago, Terry learnt that Navegante was working for the Cali cartel the entire time. Although his help had kickstarted the beginning of the end for the Medellin cartel, and no matter how they dressed themselves up to be, the Cali cartel were still drug traffickers. Terry didn’t want to be in their debt if she could help it.

She wasn’t blind to the appeal. Terry and her partners were already comfortable operating in morally-dubious circumstances, and working with the Cali cartel would be another step in the same direction. But, even if the lines were blurred, they were still there -- and there was a _fine line_ between working with vigilantes and working with narcos. 

She humoured Navegante even when Steve was so vehemently against the idea: “ _And what makes you think we’re going to trust you to not put a gun to our head and pull the trigger?_ ” 

Navegante’s only response was to repeat his question: “ _How bad do you want Escobar?_ ” 

She didn’t know Navegante or the Cali cartel well enough to make an informed decision; what she didn’t need right now was another colossal fuckup that dragged her and the DEA through the mud. Navegante gave her a knowing look at her silence and she _hated_ it. So, Terry looked away, not giving any incentive for the sicario to look closer. 

But Javi had been so quiet, looked so _thoughtful_ , that Terry couldn’t stop peering at him in the centre mirror when driving back to central Bogota. He must’ve felt her eyes on him because Javier didn’t look at her, not once, on the way back. Steve tapped out a random beat on his thigh but even that couldn't distract her from looking at Javi. 

His jaw wasn’t clenched but his hands were fisted on his knees, scratching and smoothing the material of his jeans in a steady rhythm. Javier didn’t reach for his cigarettes but periodically brought his hands up to his mouth, like he was thinking about it, before folding them back in his lap. Evidently, he was mulling over Navegante’s words, considering all available options to him as they moved forward with their investigation.

It wasn’t a crime for him to consider the alternatives and the Cali cartel presented new opportunities and avenues. Terry didn’t know whether to say something or wait until he made a concrete decision -- if she could even _tell_ at the time when he made one. 

In the end, it’s ironic that Terry is the one that confirms Moncada and Galeano never left the prison. This means that Navegante’s intel was solid and it gave credibility to his proposition; if Navegante had access to this information, it was tempting to think of what his bosses had to offer. She’d tossed the photos in front of Steve and Javi, pointed out the timestamps and her notes, and promptly left the room.

Terry gave herself five minutes in the bathroom to splash water on her face, scrub desperately at her hands, and wonder what she’d do if the Cali Cartel came to her. Five minutes wasn’t enough for that thought experiment, and Terry walked back into the office with absolutely _no fucking clue_ what she’d do. 

The choice is made for her when Terry gets a late-night phone call. Javier is curled up behind her but he only mumbles in his sleep when Terry crawls out of bed. Right before closing the door behind her, the light catches on the bare skin of his chest and Terry can’t help the _joy_ she feels, seeing him like this. Despite all the uncertainty and anxiety surrounding them, she’s happy he chooses to be here -- with her. 

That happiness is squashed by the man on the other end of the line, smooth Spanish rolling off the tongue with ease, already knowing that she understood him perfectly. “Teresa Bennett, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I have some information that is useful to you.” 

Terry doesn’t bother correcting his use of her name, the bitter taste of it overwhelmed by chaotic _desperation_ to know more from him. “Who is this?” 

“I would like us to be friends, so you can call me Pacho.” She’s frozen to the spot, eyes wide, and Hélmer Herrera laughs like he could see her right in front of him. “Don’t be so concerned, mija -- this is a good call.”

“How’d you get this number?” 

“Luis Martinez has left the fortress to help with some operations in Envigado,” Pacho continues, unfazed by her question. “He’ll be alone." 

He hands over the address like it’s nothing. 

She scrambles for a pen and notepad, writing down the address in such quick succession that Terry doesn’t even realise what she’s done until she’s staring down at it. She licks her lips, hand trembling around the receiver, but Pacho has better things to do than talk to her. 

“You will find a way to thank me, Teresa.” 

He hangs up and Terry is left to listen to the sound of static and her pounding heart.

She doesn’t move until Javier’s voice overwhelms the white noise ringing in her eardrums. He’s leaning against the bedroom door frame, rubbing sleepily at his eyes: “You okay?” 

Terry slides the notepad under a few old newspapers lying on the bench before turning around, forcing herself to smile. “Just a random call.” 

"Okay, baby." He mumbles, already shuffling his way back into the bedroom. 

When she slides back under the sheets, Javier’s arms wrapped around her waist, Terry wonders how long it took for Javi to give her number away. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***EDIT: the timeline finally pulled one on me. I'm going to be going back to this chapter and re-editing the dates. I am so, so sorry !!
> 
> First of all, apologies for the late chapter. I had a bit of a rough patch at the beginning of the work so I just took a break. I hope that this chapter was satisfactory !!
> 
> So, things are changing up. We're almost at the end of S1 and Terry is a bit sus on what Javi is up to. I've gotten a few messages over on Tumblr, and on the comments here, about how Terry and Javi are going to deal with Los Pepes. The short answer I can give you is not too well. But I will say that I'm a big fan of happy endings, and Terry and Javi deserve theirs. Like I wrote in this chapter, I love a bit of domesticity.
> 
> As per usual, I would love to hear all your thoughts & feelings. Don't hesitate to ask questions or shoot me a message/ask on Tumblr -- I can't promise to be the most articulate person but I love to chat !!
> 
>   
> Fun fact!
> 
> 1) Sudado de Pollo is a Colombian chicken stew. It looks a lot like the chicken curry I grew up eating (just missing a few spices) and honestly sounds delicious. I found a recipe on a blog called "mycolombianrecipes" so if you want to try it out for yourself, go for it!
> 
> Spanish-English translation: 
> 
> mija = slang/colloquial term for "my daughter (mi hija)" but also has a broader use as both a term of endearment or insult depending on the context and country. 
> 
> In the context of this discussion, I'm using it in a more patronising context. Pacho calls Terry 'mija' in order to diminish her status and establish himself in a more paternalistic role.


	18. Eighteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> June 1992: Terry finally deals with Martinez. 
> 
> ********
> 
> We've reached a milestone in the show timeline! I hope you enjoy this latest instalment. Also, apologies for any spelling/grammar mistakes. Grammarly and I are the best of (but maybe not the most efficient) pals!
> 
> Thank you to everyone for their continued engagement and support for this story. I truly appreciate every single one of you. ❤️

**June 1992  
** **Colombia**

Photographs of Escobar’s lavish lifestyle in prison are splashed across the headlines of every single newspaper in Colombia. The public is outraged and Gaviria has nowhere to hide from their scrutiny. But even if she and her partners had done a good thing, Terry couldn’t escape from punishment; Noonan suspends all three of them for the stunt with El Espectador. 

Terry books a flight out to Medellin with her personal expenses -- _fuck Noonan._

“You thinking about his dick?”

Terry drops the last of her clothes into the suitcase, before whipping around to stare at Robin. “Jesus Christ, watch your mouth in front of him!” 

“He’s heard worse, haven’t you?” Robin waggles her fingers at her son and Terrence is none the wiser, continuing to drool around a wooden octopus Terry had bought for his birthday. “Anyways, you didn’t answer my question.” 

“No, Robin.” Terrence decides that sitting in her suitcase was more entertaining than playing with his toys, and Terry swoops down to pick him up as he starts to unravel her carefully-packed clothing. “I’m not thinking about Javi right now.” 

This wasn’t true because Terry was almost certain he was the one to share her contact details with the Cali cartel. She hadn’t been able to sleep properly since. 

Terry had told everyone, including Javi, that she was going to Medellin to follow up on some old CNP files about Martinez. She’d justified the trip by saying that Martinez was more likely to come out of the shadows now that things were falling apart. 

_He’s a fucking cockroach,_ she said, _always looking out for himself_. 

She hadn’t told Javi that her ‘gut instinct’ was actually a well-timed tip from Pacho Herrera. Betrayed wasn’t the right word for how she felt.

It added up: Navegante and Javi had worked together before, and Navegante had clearly propositioned the three of them that night. Javier was the only one who had seriously considered it as a real option. What unsettled her was that Terry didn’t know how much Javier had told the Cali cartel.

Had he mentioned Martinez or was that something Pacho found out on his own? Did Javier want to push her to _finish_ with Martinez or was he truly oblivious? 

She didn’t have time to question him. And if the Cali cartel was going to become involved in her business, Terry could deal with them on her own terms. Nobody needed to know that she was going to do some surveillance on Martinez.

Terry figured that she’d ask permission later when she hopefully had the intel that would make up for going behind the red tape.

“I just don’t understand why you’re not taking this little week off so you can, I don’t know, go on vacation with him. Lord knows some other women would _kill_ to have him all alone on some beach.” 

It was easy to make up an excuse when there was some truth behind it. “This isn’t a break -- it’s a suspension. And it’ll be suspicious if both me and Javi decide to take leave at the same time.” Terrence snuggled into her side and Terry rested her head on top of his, smoothing a hand down his back to ground herself. 

“You know, Noonan’s probably already figured it out already.” Robin levelled Terry with a _duh_ kind of look. “Besides, fucking your partner isn’t as bad as fucking a politician.”

“No, it’s not,” Terry agreed. “But that’s not the _point_. I don’t need to give Noonan an excuse to transfer me.” 

Robin moved over so that she could grab Terrence from her. While she was close, Robin leaned in to whisper in Terry’s ear. “You’re not the one being transferred.” For a split second, Terry thought she was talking about Steve or Javi. 

But when her friend leaned back, Terrence looking curiously between the two women, Terry immediately realised who Robin was talking about. “No fucking way,” She breathed out. “Seriously?”

“Papers came in the other day. It’s not going to be for a while so I don’t need a rumour spreading around.” Robin pointed an accusing finger at her, jokingly, and Terry laughed along because they both knew she didn’t have any friends at the office to tell besides Robin. 

Steve and Javi didn’t count. 

“Not even a little preemptive retirement gift for the Ambassador? You know I hate being the last one in on the secret,” Terry flashed her teeth as Robin leaned forward to smack her. “Hey _!_ Do you want me to pretend to be unhappy she’s leaving? Noonan’s a bureaucratic nightmare.”

“Ding _dong_ , the witch is dead, blah blah blah. Shut the fuck up, Bennett.” 

“I can’t believe my godson is going to have such a colourful vocabulary.” Terry brushed her thumb over his cheek and Terrence immediately grabbed onto it, trying to stick it in his mouth. “What is with you and sticking everything in your _mouth_ , frijolito?”

He babbled at her in his nonsense language that only other young children seemed to understand but Terry nevertheless nodded dutifully. “¿Qué es?” Terry asked him, reaching out to poke him in the stomach. “I know you eat everything but the saying is _don’t bite the hand that feeds you_.” 

“Tía!” He clapped his hands and Terry caught them, squeezing. 

“Steve is going to be so upset that your child speaks better Spanish than he does,” Terry mumbled before tearing her eyes away from her godson to look at Robin.

Robin was uncharacteristically serious. Her friend looked at her with furrowed brows and pursed lips, Robin’s fingers tugging anxiously on the hem of her shirt. It was then that Terry knew that, for all her efforts to divert attention off her Medellin trip, Robin was still worried.

Robin was almost more worried because she didn’t know _what_ to be worried about. “You’re going to be careful, right?” 

Terry was silent for too long before answering: “This is just a routine trip, Robin.” 

Her friend looked disappointed as she digested the lie. 

  
  
*******

“Steve’s missing.” 

She felt like her brain was on the verge of exploding.

Standing in some shitty phone booth, the receiver sticky and old newspapers lining the glass, Terry pressed the phone tighter against her skull. “How long?” 

“A couple of hours.” Javi’s voice was mostly static but she could still make out how _careful_ he was being with his words. “I was just with Lou -- none of his contacts has him so I don’t think he’s dead.” 

“Have you talked to Connie?” 

“Yeah, she told me he was gone,” Javier murmured. “I’m heading back there now but she’s not dealing with this well.” 

“Javi, if you went missing, I’d be spiralling too.” Her laugh comes closer to _crazed_ than controlled _._ “Jesus fucking Christ, this is just what I needed today.” 

“What’s wrong?” He immediately asked, sounding like he was holding himself back from asking more questions. “Tell me.” 

“It’s nothing,” Terry assured him, even as she stared at Martinez across the road. 

Martinez was sitting alone at the bar, five empty shot glasses lined up in front of him and starting on his third beer. Checking her watch, Terry noted that he’d only been there for twenty minutes and was already on his way to being blackout drunk within the hour. Having him pass out on the street would make her feel good but Terry also wasn’t in the mood to pay off some random person to drag Martinez back to his apartment. 

“Teresa?” Javier repeated her name when she fell silent, and Terry briefly averted her gaze from Martinez. “You’ve gone quiet, baby.” 

“It’s weird being here alone.” While this was mostly said to shift the attention away from her, it was also the truth. Terry had gotten used to waking up besides Javi, no matter whether it was in his bed or her own. Just _together_. “Anyways --” 

“I miss you too.” 

For a few heartbeats, the only sound heard through the phone line was their mutual breathing. She inhales, he exhales, all to the same rhythm as if they were laying right beside one another.

“You’re going to find him, right?” Her voice is smaller but the words are easier to get out because Javi’s not in front of her. Terry doesn’t know what she’d do if he was physically _here_ , telling her Steve was gone. 

She’d probably lose her mind. 

“I promise you, Teresa.” His oath rings true even through the phone. She can hear him shifting around like he’s preparing to say something else, but then Terry sees Martinez stumble off his barstool. 

“Shit, Javi, I’ve gotta go.”

He barely manages to get out a “ _wait_ ” before she’s slamming the phone back in place. 

Terry pushes down her worry for Steve because she doesn’t have the time or the _brain space_ to think about him. She comforts herself with the thought that, even if the game was evolving, some rules hadn’t changed -- and not killing DEA agents was a rule all narcos adhered to. Steve was okay. 

Terry wasn’t going to bother entertaining the alternative. 

The bartender is talking to Martinez, his hand clapped around the younger man’s shoulder to steady him. Terry noted the time and whipped out her logbook to write it down; the logbook had been created for the sole purpose of tracking Martinez’s schedule. It was easier for her to plan when his life was routine.

Terry had been following him all day. The lab he was stationed at was inoperable in that Martinez was the only one there. Evidently, that particular location was no longer viable for manufacturing, but he’d been going back and forth between the lab and his current accommodations with duffel bags that Terry could only assume were full of cocaine or cash. 

When Martinez started passing out wads of money to various CNP officers on the route, she realised it was the latter. On its own, bribery wasn’t unusual. At its most basic level, having informants in the DEA involved more bribery than anything else, which was exactly the kind of transactional relationship Terry once had with Martinez. 

Still, disgust weighed down on her shoulders as Terry watched drug money traded between Martinez and the very people who were meant to be enforcing the law. 

After a while, Terry picked up on a few things about Martinez. Namely, that he was scared. 

Martinez acted tough during the transactions: shoulders pulled back, hand resting near his gun, sunglasses hiding his eyes so all the CNP officers could see was their own reflection. However, as soon as he was alone, Martinez deflated back into the scrawny man Terry had first met all those years ago. His fear reminded Terry of the look on his face when he had shot her. 

After all this time, she still couldn’t decide whether Martinez had intentionally shot her in the shoulder or whether he’d missed shooting her in the head. But Terry couldn’t forget how shocked he seemed at his own actions, and the way his whole body practically _vibrated_ as he crawled away from her. He didn’t look like he wanted to kill her. 

As if to remind her, her shoulder throbbed and Terry ran a finger along the raised edges of the old wound. If she pressed down hard enough, she could _just_ feel the bullet fragment that her muscle had healed over. It was far from a traumatic reminder but it was a reminder nevertheless. 

Martinez had been on foot the entire day so it was easy to follow him when he fell out of the bar, hands running along the side of buildings as he made his way up the street. He trips over himself, swearing as his palms are cut open on the gravel underneath, and drags himself upwards once again.

It’s almost sad to watch him like this. 

Still, even with all the alcohol system, Martinez remained paranoid. His whole body trembled with every fumbled step -- made all the more apparent when he would leap forward to peer into dark alleyways and through open doors as if waiting for someone to suddenly appear out of the shadows. He never looks behind him, and part of Terry is disappointed that Martinez never turns around to see her.

She follows him like that all the way home. She waits for him even when he stumbles into a brothel, only to be thrown out when the women realise Martinez doesn’t have any cash. Terry’s whole body _thrums_ with the hunt. 

Eventually, Martinez finds his apartment. He shuts the front door and her view of him is cut off.

Done for now, Terry switches the safety of the gun back on.

  
  


*******

Martinez wakes up hours later and immediately starts preparing himself a meal. 

He slathers his bread with butter, layering ham and sliced tomatoes on top, before cutting the sandwich into triangles. He doesn’t bother sitting at the table and instead sits right on top of the counter he made his dinner on. His legs swing to a random beat; even with his mouth full, he mouths along to unknown lyrics and periodically points at the wall as if he were performing in front of an audience. 

And he is. Terry watches this all from the rooftop opposite his apartment. 

Her vision of him is shaky because her hands are trembling around the binoculars. She’d been adjusting them when the call from Gaviria came through. It was a courtesy call and nothing more, but Gaviria felt Terry was deserving of at least that considering her history with Sandoval. 

“ _He has been taken hostage at La Catedral_ ”. 

Noonan’s suspension made certain that Terry would be powerless to do anything in response. She managed to breathe out a “ _thanks for letting me know_ ” even as her entire body started to tremble. Then, she had hung up and sat there on the rooftop, fist held to her mouth as she stifled the urge to scream. First, Steve -- and now, Sandoval.

In a fit of overwhelming rage, Terry decides she can’t sit and watch Martinez go throughout his evening like he was just an ordinary person. She couldn’t go find Steve, she couldn’t go help Sandoval, but she could deal with _him._

She crawls down from the rooftop and makes her way back to her parked car, shoving all her materials away except for her gun. With a weapon in hand, her body finally stops shaking. 

Terry stalks her way back to Martinez’s building and walks up the two flights of stairs it takes to get to his apartment. She raps her knuckles on the front door, interrupting Martinez’s private performance. 

He abruptly cuts himself off and silence follows until Terry hears his footsteps coming towards her from behind the door. She wasn’t sure if the residual drunkenness or complete lack of care was to blame, but Martinez opened the door without checking who was on the other side.

His face drops when he sees its her. 

She doesn’t spend time looking at his wide-eyed expression because Terry slams the butt of her gun into his face. Martinez wails, clutching at his nose and mouth. In between his fingertips, blood bursts from between broken teeth. 

Halfway bent over, it was easy for Terry to crowd him back into the apartment and click the door shut behind her. “Teresa --” He chokes when her fist slams into his gut, tumbling onto the floor. 

Martinez turned onto his back and, standing over him, Terry got a full view of his bloodied face as he stared up at her with swollen eyes. “Nice place you’ve got here.”

She stepped over him, taking her time in observing the small room. It looked like any other bachelor pad: clothes strewn on the ground, blankets covering the sofa on which he’d obviously been sleeping, and the room smelt of old food and unwashed skin. “Just temporary, I’m guessing.” 

There was a scuffling noise behind her as Martinez dragged himself off the floor. “What the _fuck_ are you doing here?” He mumbled, hands pressed against his nose. 

His footsteps were heavier now, his breath coming out in wheezes as he tried to drag in air through broken ribs. Hearing his laboured movements, Terry smiled even as she stopped in front of the wall mural. 

Surrounded by a radiant circle of gold, Saint Pablo blessed her with his benevolent gaze. 

“Lovely decor, Luis.” She turns around in time to see Martinez spit on the ground. In the dim lighting of the apartment, Terry could see tooth fragments. 

Martinez looked like a rabid animal that had just _killed_ , blood oozing from his muzzle when he bared his teeth at her. “Have you been following me?” 

“Congratulations on getting out of prison. Although _this_ is certainly a downgrade,” She vaguely gestures to the entire space. “That’s where you’ve been, right? Looks like you’ve been having a lot of fun there from what I’ve seen in the paper.” 

“Like you weren’t behind that shit.” 

But even rabid animals can be afraid, and Terry enjoys how Martinez takes an instinctual step back as she moves forward. “I just want to talk,” She says, hands raised placatingly. “We didn’t get a chance to talk much during our last meeting.” 

She and Martinez circled each other, keeping an equal distance between them even as they travelled through the living room and into the kitchen. The loaf of bread used for his dinner is still sitting out along with his unwashed plate, although the ceramic shines as if he’d licked it clean. 

“I have nothing to say to you.” 

She can see how the rage rolls off of Martinez in almost visible waves. His body seems all the broader in the small kitchen but his eyes are still hazy, steps still sluggish, and Terry is determined not to be intimidated by him. “How about an apology?” 

“I should’ve shot you in the head,” He snarls, and the answer she’s been unconsciously seeking is handed right to her: _no follow-through._

“So, why didn’t you?” She strikes back. 

Martinez freezes and Terry presses for more. “I’ve had time to think about it and I don’t think it’s because you know DEA agents are off-limits. I think it’s because you want a way out and I’m your best shot at getting it.” 

Plea deals weren’t unheard of with drug traffickers and it was an open secret that Witness Protection was full of criminals. If Martinez had information, the US government would take it and then hand him a new life for his cooperation. It was the type of deal that only had one requirement: Martinez had to sell out his fellow cartel members. 

Ironically, drug cartels were built on the idea of loyalty, no matter how skewed or how easily bought that loyalty was. And for a man like Martinez, who had spent so many years working his way up the ranks, it was a hard pill to swallow. In fact, it was one which he spat out still whole. 

“NO!” Martinez shouts. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“Don’t I?” She comes closer to him, losing all caution in her steps. “You’re a smart guy. You know that the cartel is going to crumble when Escobar is dead -- you don’t want to be a part of that.” Terry laughs in his face with no thought to the repercussions, so _arrogant_ that she has Martinez right where she wants him.

“Escobar left you here, all alone, knowing that you were going to get caught. He wanted to get fucking rid of you because that’s how little you _matter_ to him, Luis.” 

She’s too close to see Martinez’s arm swing before it’s too late. His fist is clenched at the back of her head and, in quick succession, Terry is thrown face-first into the nearest wall. A scream catches in her throat as her head is pulled back under Martinez’s will. He smashes her head into the wall a second time. There is a sickening sound as her nose collapses under his ministrations, and cheap plaster breaks off to lodge into her skin. 

Blood floods her mouth and nose and Terry truly understands what it means to drown. She chokes on it, _red_ and _drool_ splattering the wall as she struggles to escape him. Her gun clatters on the floor as it flies out of her grip. 

Desperate, she throws her elbow back and is lucky when it hits Martinez in the stomach. He gags, letting go of Terry as he tries to regain his breath. 

Quickly moving away from him, she braves a glance at the wall and sees the indent where her face once was. But that glance is enough for him to work with.

Terry’s knees collapse underneath her when Martinez strikes out at her legs. She’s barely hit the floor when his fists start to rain down on her, and Terry holds her forearms up to protect herself from him. The move leaves her entirely vulnerable at the waist and Martinez exploits that, kicking out to hit her square in the ribs.

From the force alone, Terry’s body feels like it moves backwards a good metre as her ribs fold and bend and _crack_ underneath his boot. 

“Not so talkative now.” Martinez doesn’t move closer to her because he seems to enjoy standing over her, talking _down_ at her. “You want to know why I volunteered to come back here?” 

Pain radiates through her entire body and yet Terry can’t help herself. “To get drunk and bribe some local police officers? I didn’t know you’re the glue keeping this cartel from falling apart.” Her punishment is another kick to the stomach.

Terry lurches forward and vomits. Martinez’s laugh is dark as he watches her heave, and tears start to stream down her face when her torso spasms. 

“I wanted to come out and see _you_.” 

He crouches down in front of her and uses his hand to lift her chin, making sure that she sees him. In a sick caress, Martinez uses his thumb to wipe away the bile covering her lips. “To _thank you_ for not letting Carrillo kill me. And to give you your final reminder that I don’t fucking care what you have to offer me.” 

His fingers curl around her throat and the scream only gets out halfway before the back of her head is thrown into the wall. “I will never betray my _family_. You know something about that, don’t you?” 

Terry kicks her legs out, only for Martinez to pin them with his own, laughing at her struggle. “I hope they are the ones who will find your corpse, Teresa.” 

There is no bright light at the end of the tunnel, no flashbacks of her life. There are no soft thoughts about Javi and Steve and Connie and Robin and Terrence and Sandoval. There is only the darkness creeping in at the edges of her vision, a temptation to _let go_. 

Terry wills her body to follow through. 

Her fist flies out, fingertips jabbing into his windpipe. Terry’s lungs fill with air as Martinez flops backwards, curling into himself as he begins to _retch_. Briefly, her hands reach up to touch her neck and Terry is enraged to feel the swollen, bruised skin. 

Wiping her hand under her nose, Terry feels heat spread from the areas of her face where blood is smeared across like paint. Not sparing Martinez another glance, she throws herself towards the abandoned gun. 

A slick handprint is left on the wall when Terry drags herself from the floor. Martinez throws his head back to see her standing over him.

Terry’s vision is blurred with her blood and her entire body is shaking with adrenaline --- but her hand is the steadiest it has ever been. The click of the safety is loud and clear.

She aims at his head. 

His tattoo of the Virgin Mary is in full view, and Terry inspects it closely even as Martinez begins to taunt her through broken gasps. “You can’t do it, corazón!” He grins at her wildly, mouth dark and full of bloodied and broken teeth. “You can’t do it!” 

Terry pulls the trigger under the watchful gaze of the Blessed Mother and Pablo Escobar. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Obi-Wan voice* Hello there.
> 
> Martinez was not meant to take up so much of this story but I really enjoyed having him here as a side-character. I think seeing how he's changed and how Terry has changed since his first appearance in Chapter 3 is really exciting to me as a fic-writer. It's a common thread I've managed to keep throughout the story, and I knew from the get-go that this is how I wanted it to end. 
> 
> My thinking was that Terry never wanted Martinez to live. So, even when she's questioning him about plea deals, it is never her intention to follow-through on that. As we've seen in previous chapters, Terry has continually underestimated Martinez and has gotten arrogant in dealing with him; killing him is her way of resolving that issue. We'll see the repercussions of this choice throughout the next overarching storyline, which is the S2 plot! 
> 
> It's always a bit odd for me to write out action scenes -- I think I mess up my tenses but I hope this was readable regardless of those mistakes !! As always, I would love to hear your feedback, constructive criticism, general thoughts etc. Also, if you want to shoot me a message on Tumblr, I literally just realised that I had to turn *on* anon asks. So, if you're not comfortable reaching out on the chat (although some of you have, and I love literally screaming my love at you) don't hesitate to send me an anonymous message! 
> 
> Fun facts for this chapter
> 
> 1) El Espectador is the newspaper that Javi and Steve pass off the photos to at the end of 1x9. El Espectador was well-known for being a liberal newspaper in the late 20th century, publicly denouncing censorship in the press as well as publicly denouncing drug trafficking in Colombia. We actually heard of this very briefly in the show, but the director of the paper was assassinated by Escobar in 1986.
> 
> 2) "Ding dong, the witch is dead" is referencing the song from The Wizard of Oz. This song is sung first to celebrate Dorothy's house crushing the Wicked Witch of the East. Definitely not a flattering comparison for Noonan. 
> 
> 3) In high school, my psychology class look at the Stanford Prison Experiment as a case study. From what I remember, one of the things that popped up was that the individuals acting as guards wore sunglasses to hide their eyes. This is a behavioural choice that comes around with the intention to create distance and intimidate others. If you think of the phrase "the eyes are the window to the soul", hiding the eyes means that you're effectively hiding your humanity. 
> 
> 4) For more information on Escobar's escape from La Catedral, I found a good summary published by The Guardian in July 1992 titled "Escobar escape humiliates Colombian leaders". One interesting note from this was that almost a dozen cartel leaders were killed on Escobar's orders beforehand -- so not just Galeano and Moncada as we saw in the show (however, the article notes Galeano and Moncada were brought to the prison for a "final interview", so I'm assuming these other hits happened outside prison walls). 
> 
> 5) A safety on a gun is designed to stop accidentally firing the gun. I had to keep looking up how it worked so: if you hear a click, the safety is turned off. If you don't hear a click, the safety is on. Apparently this varies by model but I neither like guns or have an interest in them so we're keeping it vague, folks. 
> 
> 6) I took the Saint Pablo mural idea from 1x7 "You Will Cry Tears of Blood". In Natalie's home, we see a small portrait of Pablo Escobar designed as a saintly figure. Imagine that same image, just a lot bigger. I really loved this creation by the Narcos team because it highlights the stark differences in public opinion regarding Escobar: he's either a villain or a saint. This is a dichotomy that is still seen today in Colombia.
> 
> 7) The US Witness Protection/Witness Security Programme is for witnesses before, during, and after a trial is commenced. This is normally because the witness is testifying to help fry a bigger fish and there is a threat of retaliation. One of the eligibility requirements for the programme is drug trafficking offences! According to a CNN article, around 95% of people in witness protection are criminals, although the criminal behaviour covered is fairly wide in scope (think bribery to murder). 
> 
> Some Spanish-English translations. As always, take these with a grain of salt!
> 
> frijolito = little bean; term of endearment for children  
> ¿Qué es? = What is it?  
> Tía = Aunt


	19. Nineteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath. 
> 
> *******
> 
> Thank you for your continued support ❤️
> 
> I think a content warning for this chapter is appropriate, so CW for explicit description of injuries including blood, cuts, and bruising. Also, CW for disassociative thoughts.

**Late June 1992  
** **Colombia**

There’s a landline in the living room. She picks it up, dials the number for the police, and gives them her location. Then, she calls the DEA office and provides the same details. When both tasks are completed, she hooks the phone back on the wall. 

Terry is left alone with Martinez’s body for over an hour. 

Clinically, she observes that it’s a clean shot. The bullet hit the middle of his forehead and is probably stuck in the floorboards underneath, having gone straight through his skull. The combination of the bullet and the violent fight between them left Martinez’s face unrecognisable. His nose is broken and some teeth are missing, and most of his brain is splattered on the floor and the furthest wall away from them.

Martinez had died instantaneously but she had made him suffer. Keeping his body within her peripheral vision, she takes time to note her own injuries. 

Terry has a broken nose and a split lip, a mixture of superficial and deeper cuts running along her cheeks and forehead from the broken wall plaster. She counts three broken ribs and two of her fingernails have split down to the root. She ends up kneeling on the ground in front of Martinez because it’s easier to breathe that way, curling into herself as her body is wracked with painful tremors. 

The stream of Spanish coming from the officers stops when they enter the apartment. Terry doesn’t have to see them to know that they are shocked. The scene around them is _carnage_. 

But she gets up and goes through the motions, first handing over her gun and badge.

Without touching anything around her, not the walls or the overturned furniture or Martinez, she explains what happened. Someone is writing her statement down and asking her clarifying questions, and Terry is working on autopilot.

_No, this wasn’t an approved stakeout. Yes, I knew him. No, I didn't find him like this._

_Yes, I killed him_. It is surprisingly easy to say aloud. 

The officers drag her to the station shortly after, shoving her into an empty interrogation room to wait. Considering everything, her current circumstances are a lot more hospitable than Terry was expecting. The officers had even been kind enough to share the events of the previous evening.

Escobar escaped and nobody had a fucking clue to where he was. The only good news was that Sandoval was retrieved, uninjured, and the Ambassador would be arriving in the morning with Terry’s partners -- _plural_. The knowledge that Steve and Sandoval are safe tides Terry over during her seven-hour wait. 

She doesn’t care to pace around the room or ask for amenities like blankets and food. She sits there and she waits, only caring to stare at the cracks in the blind-covered windows in hopes of seeing a familiar face. Nothing has really hit her, yet. 

Noonan enters alone. 

The Ambassador looks tired and Terry can’t imagine the amount of shit she’s buried under with Escobar’s escape. Regardless, Noonan never looks small despite her petite stature or the circumstances. She’s done this long enough that a commanding presence comes part and parcel with the job. Noonan settles herself in front of Terry, face blank, and doesn’t wait for a ' _hello’_. 

“You’ll be glad to know that last night’s fiasco means you won’t be put under investigation. At the moment, the government has higher priorities than some rogue agent killing a drug trafficker.” Noonan says this as casually as she would reading off a breakfast menu. 

Briefly, Terry wonders whether all older women end up developing the capability to look disappointed rather than angry. Noonan has the expression teed up _so_ _perfectly_ that she must’ve gotten her practice somewhere. Despite Terry’s growing dislike of the other women, Noonan’s obvious displeasure leaves a bad taste on her tongue. 

“This is the last time you’ll be able to pull off this kind of stunt. Last I checked, there’s plenty of openings in the Seattle office.” 

Terry is silent as she digests this new information. She’d worried about Noonan having her transferred but never thought that the Ambassador would be threatening her with such a manoeuvre to her face. She would rather quit than go back to Seattle’s DEA office and Noonan knows it.

“Your problem is, Bennett, is that you’re impatient. You create and jump through loopholes because you don’t want to go through the proper channels.” 

Terry disagrees. How could Noonan call her impatient when one evening had undone eight years of work? Escobar was gone and none of them had a clue to where he was. Terry doesn’t think its impatience -- it’s _frustration_ , and frustration is a bitter pill that she’s sick of swallowing. 

“And where has that impatience gotten you? Sitting in a police station after killing your CI.” 

“It was self-defence.”

“You _sought_ him out.”

Noonan is confident in her deduction and Terry has no choice but to drop her gaze to the table. There is no way to refute what they both know is obvious. She doesn’t look up even as Noonan sighs, the chair creaking as the Ambassador leans back. All Terry focuses on is the way that her legs have started to shake and how her entire body is on the verge of simply crashing. 

“I expect you to be on the airstrip at 2pm. You’ll be serving a 2-week suspension on top of your old one in Bogota. In the meantime, Murphy and Pena will be here, looking through what’s left of La Catedral.” 

Terry doesn’t argue because she knows that her punishment is laughably lenient. Still, knowing that she will not be able to pick through the scraps of La Catedral herself is painful -- sh _deserves_ to be there. Then again, she’s not in the position to talk about who is deserving of what action. 

After all, Terry had just killed a man. 

The chair screeches when Noonan stands up and Terry forces herself to look up at the Ambassador. Surprisingly, Terry can see threads of concern in Noonan’s gaze. While disappointed, Noonan seems to almost pity her. Terry doesn’t know which feeling she dislikes more. 

“You’re a good agent, Bennett, but you aren’t invincible.” Noonan purses her lips. “Get used to being held accountable for your choices.” 

Noonan leaves the room, leaving Terry to stare after her. It’s a few moments later that Terry brings her hands up from underneath the table, her nerves so on fire that her fingertips are clearly trembling. 

_Fuck_ , _she’s good_.

*******

She embraces Steve tightly, ignoring the way the movement causes her ribs to throb painfully. On her tip-toes, clinging onto his neck, Terry can look over his shoulder and see Javier. He is leaning against the opposite wall, watching the two of them with a false sense of calmness. Javi's giving her the space she needs to hold Steve, all the while battling the urge to push his partner aside so he can see _her_. 

“I’m okay, I’m okay!” Steve pats her hair as he rocks the two of them, and Terry hisses when his fingertips graze the lump on the back of her head. “Growing a second head there, Bennett?” 

When they pull away from one another, the teasing grin on his face is clear as day. However, it does nothing to hide the tiredness enveloping his body or his concern for her. “Something like that,” Terry mumbles. “Who…?”

“Pacho Herrera,” Steve answers this easily, expecting the question, and doesn’t seem to notice the way she tenses at the name. Out of the corner of her eye, Terry can see Javi’s shoulders shifting and she knows that her reaction didn’t go unnoticed. “He just wanted to talk, that’s all. Snarky son of a bitch.” 

She doesn’t say anything, just nods noncommittally. 

“Anyways, I’m fine. Nothing like a good kidnapping to start off your suspension! Well, actually, that’s over now too,” Steve runs a hand through his hair, making the strands stick up at all ends. “Fucking Escobar, man.”

“You’ll take some good photos for me, right?” 

Steve opens and closes his mouth, confused. “What are you talking about?” 

“My suspension’s been extended. I’m flying back to Bogota with Noonan.” 

“That’s _bullshit!_ ” Steve exclaims. “The guy deserved it. I mean, it’s like you’ve been run over by a goddamn horse and carriage.”

Javi speaks up from behind them. When Terry turns to look at him, he’s glaring at some random space on the wall. “Better that than dead.” 

Steve realises that this is his time to exit, glancing between his two partners.

“Terry,” He says, making her shift her attention away from Javi. “I’ll let Connie know that you’re coming back. Someone needs to take care of you while you’re recovering.” 

The thought of being with a friend is comforting, and she squeezes Steve’s bicep gratefully. “Don’t have too much fun without me, okay?” 

Steve rubs a soft hand on her shoulder. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” 

Then, it’s just her and Javi standing in the open corridor. Terry doesn’t know who moves towards whom first but suddenly they’ve collided in the middle. 

He cups her face in his hands, drinking in her appearance. “Fuck,” He breathes out, voice trembling. He doesn’t kiss her but his fingertips are spread across her face, trying to cover every inch of skin available to him. His thumbs are wiping away the grime under her eyes, smoothing the abused skin under his touch. “ _Teresa_.”

At the sound of her name, Terry feels herself crumble under the weight of the last twenty-four hours. There is an emotion too complex for her to describe how it feels to kill another person. The only thing Terry knows for certain is that it’s not guilt. 

The lack of guilt only serves to make her feel all the more disgusted with herself. She sinks into him, uncaring that it causes her broken nose to be crushed against his chest. She doesn’t cry but a choked heave is muffled against his body, and Javier’s hands run along her back soothingly. 

Terry grounds herself to this new reality by tethering herself to his touch.

She doesn’t know whether they stay like that for mere seconds or minutes. Terry only knows that, by the time she pulls away from him, all she wants to do is hide from the world. “Fuck,” She mumbles, hands pressing carefully against her face. The coolness of her palms is a remedy to the flustered heat of her cheeks, the kind of inevitable redness that came from suppressing her cries. 

Terry can’t let herself go -- not here. 

“It’s okay,” Javi tries to grab for her waist and Terry recoils, instinctually protecting her ribs from any more damage. Although understanding, he reels away from her like he was the source of her pain. “Shit, Teresa, I’m so --”

“Don’t say that you’re sorry.” 

“Why?” His arms lift briefly like he’s about to touch her face again but they quickly settle on his hips. The look he gives her is incredulous. “I’m worried about you. I don’t give a fuck about Martinez.” 

She finds the courage to look him dead in the eyes. “You told Pacho Herrera about me.” 

Terry has had time to reconcile this all in her head but it’s different saying it to his face, watching for his reaction. She hopes to find something to prove her wrong, to chalk up the entire circumstance to coincidence. But Terry had known since she picked up that phone and the fact that Javier barely manages to maintain eye contact is confirmation enough. 

“Or you told Navegante, who told Herrera -- I don’t know.”

“I didn’t mean for this to happen. I didn’t want you to get hurt,” His voice is lower, softer in the corridor, but his tone is pleading. “Fuck, Terry, I didn’t know what--”

“You don’t have to apologise for _this_ ,” She laughs mockingly, waving a hand down her brutalised body. “It’s not like he told me to kill Martinez. I made that choice on my own.” 

Noonan had been right in that respect: Pacho had given her the intel and she’d _run_ with it. Terry had sought Martinez out and her intentions had been nothing more than to get rid of him. Neither Javier nor Pacho Herrera had pulled the trigger -- she had. 

“I don’t think this is the best place to talk,” She said, peering down the corridor. While she couldn’t hear any other person nearby, they’d been lucky to get so much time alone. “I’ll wait until you get back, okay?” 

When she turned back to him, Javier’s gaze was directed at the floor. His hands were clenched into tight fists by his side, knuckles straining white underneath his skin. He looked angry and, although he hadn’t said the words, Terry knew he was sorry. 

She didn’t know whether she forgave him. After all, she didn’t know the details and, therefore, didn’t know what to forgive him _for_. Her mind was too scrambled, too overwhelmed, too tired to figure that equation out. 

Her confused state made it easy for Terry to reach out to him.

With one hand, Terry lifted his chin, and with the other, she threaded her fingers in his hair to pull him closer. Minding her broken nose and her split lip, she kissed him delicately, barely moving her lips over his. Within a few heartbeats, Javi was responding, gentle with his returned affection. 

“Okay,” He mumbled against her lips, soothing the wound with his tongue. “Later.”

  
  


*******

Terry clenched her teeth as she sank into the water because the heat was scalding against her skin. By the time she exited the bath, hours later, her skin was bright red and shrivelled -- evidence that she had felt something in all that time. Even when brushing her hands along her torso, her thighs, dipping in between her legs, Terry had struggled to release herself from this dissociative state.

She’d stared at herself in the mirror, at the bruises and the cuts and the bandages that covered her torso and arms and face. It was odd to calculate her body by what inch of skin hadn’t been tainted by her actions; nothing was left to spare. Terry twisted and turned and all she saw was red, black, and blue. 

It wasn’t soon after that Terry threw herself into bed, unable to bear looking at her reflection. But even in her sleep, she couldn’t find any comfort. She’d fall asleep only to dream of the gun in her hand. She would wake up, stare at the ceiling and hope for _anything else_ , only to fall back into the same sequence when she closed her eyes. 

After a while, Terry stopped resisting.

There were flashes of gore and brain matter and the hole in Martinez’s skull. She recounted the expression on his face as he choked her, what her blood looked like smeared on the apartment wall, and how his gut had sunk under her fist. _Again and again,_ Terry would go through the motions of the previous night. 

At one point, the dream fell into the surreal; the mural of Saint Pablo had started to move. Escobar nodded approvingly at her actions, told her she had helped him, and Terry kept pulling the trigger under his supervision. 

Every single fucking time. 

Terry knows that how she looks on the outside is a reflection of how battered she feels on the inside. It’s no wonder that Connie immediately burst into tears at the sight of her. 

“Oh my god!” Connie pressed her hands against her mouth, looking Terry up and down.

“Hi Connie,” Terry forces a small smile on her face, shifting to create space for Connie to come in. The sudden movement caused a twinge in her lower back and Terry tenses, trying to fight off the spasm. “How are you?” 

“How am _I?_ What the fuck!” The door hasn’t even clicked shut before Connie is on her, running around Terry in circles as she starts to examine her condition. “I should’ve come and looked you over last night.” 

Terry stays still even as Connie reaches out to feel her torso, running her fingertips along the hastily pulled together bandages. She starts to unwrap them, wanting to see the damage for herself, and Terry lets Connie do her job. “It wasn’t necessary.” 

“The hell it wasn’t!” Connie snaps at her before gasping at the mottled skin on display. “You gotta be better at taking care of this otherwise it’s going to take weeks to heal.” 

“I already thought it was going to take weeks.” Connie isn’t happy with the smartass comment and Terry lolls her head forward in shame. “I’m _s_ _orry,_ okay? I was just tired and you’ve been busy. I don’t want to be a burden.”

“How busy can I be with a toddler and a missing husband?” Connie is crouched in front of her and so Terry can’t see her face all that well, but her voice is tight. 

“That must’ve been terrifying, Connie.”

Terry had told Javi that she would’ve lost it if he went missing -- but if he did, she had access to the resources to ask questions, to pursue him. She couldn’t fathom what it was like for Connie, to sit at home and not even be able to talk to anyone besides her husband’s partner. 

Connie’s hands stop moving and she looks up at her, letting Terry see the pure surprise written across her face. “Yeah,” Connie eventually murmurs, blinking back her shock. “It was.” 

Terry stops looking at her friend when she sees Connie swallow thickly. The least she could do is give her friend some privacy, and so Terry tilts her head back to stare at the ceiling. She starts counting the number of cracks in the plaster and doesn’t say anything when Connie’s hands tremble against her skin. 

When she’s done rewrapping, Connie stretches upwards and pats Terry on the chin. Bringing her head back down, Terry is immediately faced with red-rimmed eyes and dried tear tracks running down her friend’s face. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

“No,” Connie gives her a sad smile. “I’m done talking.” 

No friend or child could replace a husband. Terry would never be a good enough substitute for a conversation Connie desperately needed to have with Steve. Connie needed _him_ but Steve was barely around. Terry couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt knowing that she was part of the problem. 

Connie Murphy was done with Colombia.

Terry didn’t have it in her to force her friend to stay. “If you’re sure, Connie.” 

In a move that reminded Terry of Steve, Connie reached out to squeeze her shoulder. “I am.”   
  


*******

On the second day, Terry invites both Connie and Robin to visit. She tries to distract herself with their children but is met with the equally horrifying reactions of Terrence screaming and Olivia falling hauntingly silent. Her injuries aren’t healing fast enough for the children and Robin can’t look her in the eyes. 

Terry makes the decision to lay low until she recovers -- until Robin and Terrence and Olivia can stand to be around her. Even Connie, who turns up every afternoon to check over her injuries, pulls away. She’s dealing with the pressure of an absent husband and Terry is a physical reminder of why Connie wants to leave all this behind. 

There is no pride in her injuries so it is easy for Terry to burrow away. She oscillates between hating Martinez and hating herself. 

The cuts on her face have started to scab over but the bruising has darkened under her eyes and across her nose, in hues of greens and blacks and yellows. Every morning, Terry runs her fingertips along the marks and presses deep into the swelling, just to see if she feels any different. She spends her days noting the changes in her body: her ribs hurt less, bruises in the shape of finger marks have bloomed on her neck, and there’s a new scar running along from her left temple to right ear. 

It is easier to breathe, after a week, but something new has come to weigh down on her chest. Smoking doesn’t alleviate anything, nor does drinking. Terry itches for an argument if only so she can tear herself away from this plateau she’s found herself in. 

And then, Javier returns and he’s sitting on her bed as if nothing had changed. Except the air is dense to the point of suffocating and she hates this feeling. Javi evidently feels the same because he is fidgeting, hands clutching at the sheets beneath him. 

She leans on the doorframe, far away from him, ready to flee. 

“How are you doing?” He asks, cautiously. With the way his thighs are flexing, Terry knows he would prefer to stand right in front of her, drag her against him. But she hasn’t allowed him to come closer than two metres since he showed up. 

“I just want to know what you told him.” Terry doesn’t have to clarify _who_. 

Javier sighs before answering, making sure to look at her as he does. He is observing her just as much as she is observing him. He’s not hiding away, despite the discomfort and guilt, and so Terry affords him the same even if she bristles under his inspection. 

“The Cali cartel has its own network of informants. Navegante asked if we’re looking for anyone and I mentioned that Martinez had gone missing. Navegante said he could bring me some intel. He already had your details -- I just confirmed the numbers on the page.”

His confession is both more and less than she expected. He owns up to _confirming_ and _mentioning_ \-- all fairly innocuous activity. Javier presents himself as a passive player in the story and Terry wants to trust him at face value. 

His decisions are not quite ‘selling out’, not quite ‘betraying’ a partner. However, there is still a noticeable distaste running along her throat and tongue, tainting her thoughts and words. She knows that he wouldn’t do anything to hurt her, and yet, Terry also knows that she would have never made the same choice. 

At least, that is what she tells herself. 

“I never knew that Herrera would call you -- you should’ve told me when it happened.” 

She can’t help but laugh. “Told you?” Terry breathes out. “And what about you deciding, on your own, that I’d be okay working with the Cali cartel? What about telling _me_?” 

Javier stands up from the bed but doesn’t move any closer. He’s tense, and it is only then that Terry realises he’s matching her defensive stance. “I didn’t decide for you. _You_ took that information and went to go find Martinez on your own.” He’s parroting Noonan and Terry hates it; her rage simmers. “Do you know how fucking stupid that was?” 

She baulks at the insinuation, lip curling up. “I was doing my job. I was following up _my_ informant -- Martinez was _my_ responsibility. I waited for you to tell me about Navegante or Pacho or whoever the fuck you told about me. I waited and you didn’t say shit, Javi!”

She’s no longer leaning against the door and has sprung into action, stalking over to him, pressing a pointed finger into his chest. Javier is immovable, looking down at her with a fire in his eyes that matches the anger blazing in the pit of her stomach. Terry knows that his dishonesty is no excuse for her own and yet she finds herself wanting to point out his hypocrisy. 

“I was protecting you.” 

“Oh grow up, Javi! It’s not your job to protect me.” He turns his head away from her but Terry follows, pacing around him until he is forced to look at her once again. “It’s bullshit that you wanted to keep me from Cali because you practically served me on a silver platter!” 

His face goes dark, shadows cast all across his face. All she can see is the deep furrow of his brow and his downturned mouth, his dark eyes, and Terry knows that this is the angriest she has ever seen him. “Don’t you fucking accuse me of putting you in danger.” 

“Don’t try acting like you weren’t trying to get me involved in some narco _pissing contest._ If I decided on my own terms to go to Navegante, I would’ve fucking gone to Navegante!” She strikes out with her words, uncaring to where they landed or whether they hurt him. “I don’t need you to pull some seniority crap on me. I’m not your insubordinate -- we’re a _team_.” 

“How can we be a team if you’re fucking dead _,_ Teresa?” 

“How can I trust you when you _SOLD ME OUT_?” 

Javier flinches and immediately takes a step back from her. Terry closes her mouth. The air is so stuck in her lungs that Terry can’t distinguish whether the pain emanates from her healing ribs or from the dread that is quickly enveloping her. 

She didn’t mean that, although the part of her filled with rage says that she did. 

The other parts of her are urging Terry to reach out to him: _tell him about this emptiness, this confusion, about how you don’t feel guilty. Tell him how it felt when you were dying, how it felt when you pulled the trigger. Ask him for his support._

 _Tell him it’s not his fault_. 

The words are stuck in her throat, desperately trying to claw their way out. “Javi --” 

She doesn’t cry until the front door slams shut behind him. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week has been tough because of some recent events in the UK so I'm going to keep this end note short. 
> 
> This immediate period after Martinez's death is a tough one for Terry to navigate. It's an entirely new experience that's going to have palpable repercussions on both her career and her personal life. The happy couple is not so happy at the end of this but don't fret! Things are going to work out. As always, I would love to hear your thoughts & feelings about how the story is going. Again, feel free to ask questions in the comments or on my Tumblr (itssmashedavo)! 
> 
> I hope you're all doing well, keeping safe & healthy during this time. Sending all my love ❤️


End file.
